Write Your Own Song
by Dark Ride
Summary: AUish. Sandor thinks Sansa has finally broken under Joffrey's abuse. She begs to disagree. She can finally put herself together. "I shall write my own song." And she starts by fleeing her captivity.
1. Chapter 1

**Content notices:** physical abuse

**Disclaimer:** G.R.R. Martin is the mastermind behind the series. This is merely a fan venture, I stand to gain no profit from it.

* * *

Sansa had been going through the motions for months. She did everything that was expected of her, trying to smile and be polite and saying beautiful lies, all in an effort to please the monster that sat upon the Iron Throne. The lies were the easiest part, she found out, saying the meaningless platitudes and pleasantries. The small talk was designed for lying and Sansa had been trained her whole life so the courtesy and its lies came to her easily. It was keeping the smiles on her face that had proven difficult. Cruel words and crueler punishments for wrongs imagined or done by someone else were heaped upon her seemingly every day and there was nothing to smile about for her. Not with her father dead and her family far away.

Sansa lowered the embroidery she was working on into her lap and looked out the window. Her room was high in the Maegor's Holdfast and she could see the sprawling mass of the King's Landing all around. The people were but moving shapes, tiny and insignificant and yet freer than she could ever hope to be. It was like the Hound had said. She was just a little bird in her cage, singing on command as her masters wished.

"Once there was a bird in a red cage," she whispered to herself, ignoring her handmaids' questioning looks. A song could have started that way but Sansa doubted anyone would ever sing about her. There were songs about princesses being held in high towers or imprisoned by cruel kings but none were sung about stupid little birds chirping to please their masters.

She hadn't been to the godswood for almost a fortnight. She had no desire to listen to Ser Dontos' false reassurances and bids for patience. She had fancied herself a Jonquil once, back when she had talked to him for the first time and named him her Florian. And yet, months had passed and her freedom was nowhere in sight and she started to doubt if her chosen Florian could save her after all.

_Life is not a song, little bird._

Sansa could imagine the Hound scolding her for her fancies in that rough voice of his, telling her things that hurt at first but were more true than anything else in her life. She had promised to sing for him, she remembered but had yet to fullfill that promise.

In fact, she hadn't sung in a very long time. She had always been told she had a clear, nice voice and she was skilled at playing high harp and bells but how long had it been since she had done any of it? There was nothing in her life to be happy about but not all songs were for the happy times. Rhaegar Targaryen was said to have been writing and playing mostly sad songs. Why couldn't Sansa sing one?

"Bring me my harp," she told one of her handmaids, standing up abruptly and dropping her unfinished work on the table. "I wish to play."

The woman obeyed, bringing Sansa the instrument as she sat down again. Sansa only strummed the strings lightly at first, refamiliarizing herself with the feel of wood and strings, calling forth the movements of her fingers from memory. She felt clumsy at the beginning, the notes harsh and false but as her hands remembered, the sound gentled and smoothed out. She didn't play any particular melody, letting her fingers tease and play, her mind going to Winterfell and her first lessons with harp, her mother's approving smiles, Septa Mordane's praises, Arya's jealous glances...

Sansa lowered her head, half-wishing she hadn't had her hair styled in the southron fashion so that she could hide her face behind them. She felt tears stinging at her eyes but suppressed them as best she could. Longing for her home wasn't going to help her. Her life was not a song. If it was, she would be stronger and braver. She would be a she-wolf, like Arya or Aunt Lyanna, not a chirping bird fit only for the cage.

But weren't there songs like that, too? About people changing in the course of their life into someone better? Someone stronger? Why couldn't she change from a bird into a wolf? Joffrey had her beaten regularly but all she could do was to endure it and hope for the end. She never tried to take courage from it. She never tried to store the memory of those beatings to fan the flames of her revenge. If she wanted a song to be written about her, she needed to start acting like a heroine, not a scared little girl.

Her fingers stilled even as her tears dried and Sansa raised her head proudly. She would no longer cry at the beatings. She would smile and thank them because they were making her stronger with their cruelty, even if they didn't know it themselves. She would shed her feathers and cloak herself in fur. She was of the North and to the North she would return and songs would be made about her. And she would write the first verses herself.

A knock on the door heralded an arrival of her escort. It seemed that Jofrey desired her company to torment her a little more. Sansa smiled to herself again. The evil king was summoning the captured princess. The first lines of her song were writing itself already. Sansa stood up and with more courage than she had possessed since her father's death, she walked forth and into her own song.

* * *

Something was different about the little bird, Sandor noticed. She walked straighter somehow. She had always had a good posture, like a proper lady but now she held her head more proudly. And she was smiling. Not the insincere twist of her lips that had always looked forced but a genuine smile. And she looked him in the face without prompting and took his arm like a well-bred lady, choosing to walk on his left side, the scarred side that had always repulsed her before.

He wanted to ask her what it was all about but didn't know how to start. She looked almost happy and he knew that Joffrey would have that happiness destroyed soon enough, whatever its source was. Let the little bird enjoy herself for those few brief moments.

And brief moments they were, for as he escorted her down the Throne Room, he could see the frown on Joffrey's face as the boy sprawled himself in the Iron Throne, seemingly heedless of the sharp points of the swords all around him. The King had gone hunting in the morning but brought nothing back, his aim worse than bad and his mood dark because of it.

"There is my lady," he said as the girl curtseyed and straightened up, her head lowered deferentially but not brokenly. Sandor took his customary place at Joffrey's side but he kept watching the girl. Something was very different about her and it bothered him that he couldn't pinpoint what exactly it was.

"Your Grace," she greeted the King but said nothing more. She must have noticed his bad mood, too but she didn't cower as usual.

"You are late," the Boy King proclaimed.

"I apologize, Your Grace. It shall never happen again."

"I don't want your empty reassurances," Joffrey spat. "I know how stupid you are. You will forget unless you have something to remind you."

"As you say, Your Grace," the girl agreed meekly but she didn't look scared, even though she knew very well his words were a prelude to yet another beating. Joffrey frowned at her lack of fear but shrugged it off as all the things he couldn't understand and gestured Trant and Blount forward. They were his favourite men to beat on the girl, since they never protested and they had a ruthless streak in them.

The little bird didn't resist as Blount seized her arms harshly and kept them behind her back. She stood there, tall and proud, a half-smile on her face. The first blow was aimed at her stomach and she curled forward in pain before Blount's hand in her hair forced her to straighten up again. Sandor expected to see tears on her face but she kept smiling, her eyes bright in her pale face. Trant frowned which made him even uglier than usual and drove his fist right into her sternum. She gasped as the air rushed out of her lungs and Joffrey leaned forward eagerly.

"Hit her again so she remembers her lesson well. My lady must not be tardy."

"Thank you, Your Grace," the little bird spoke up, still breathless and everyone in the Throne Room froze. She was clearly in pain but there was no resentment in her voice as she continued. "It is very kind of you to take the time to instruct me. I know that I am far from being your ideal lady but your help shall surely improve my manners. And I thank you as well, gallant sers," she addressed the two men who had just been beating her but now stood just as confused as everyone else.

The words sounded sarcastic but there was no hint of falseness in her voice. She meant them, Sandor realized. And yet there was still something off. Something about her complacency rang false as if she only pretended to submit. It was in her manner, in the proud tilt of her chin and flashing depths of her eyes. She wasn't as weak as before. Something or someone gave her strength.

The King was just as unsettled by her behaviour as the others but he struggled not to let it show.

"You seem to finally understand," he forced out, his uncertainty about how to deal with this new Sansa Stark obvious. "Good. Just remember what you learned today."

"I will, Your Grace," she replied and when Blount released her arms, she dropped into a curtsey. Joffrey waved her off.

"I don't wish for your company today, after all. Go back to your room. Take her there, Dog, and make sure she stays inside until dinner."

"As it please Your Grace," she said and looked directly at Sandor as he descended the steps to escort her back. She was still smiling and Sandor was certain by now that she must have gone mad. That was the only likely explanation for her behaviour.

"Has he finally broken you, little bird?" he rasped once they left the Throne Room and started walking the empty corridors. She looked up at him, her eyes guileless and innocent.

"I beg your pardon?"

"That business back there, with smiles and thanks. Do you think he's going to be less cruel if you pretend to like his punishments?"

"I know he is not going to be kinder," she replied, her smile growing wider. "He has to be cruel to me otherwise the song wouldn't be right."

Sandor stopped in his tracks and looked down at her incredulously.

"The song?" he repeated and she nodded. "Have you gone mad, girl? Life's not a fucking song."

"I knew you would say that," she chirped brightly and Sandor had to resist an urge to grab her shoulders and shake her until she came back to her senses. The girl had gone mad, broken by Joffrey's words and doings. His little bird was broken and the thought unsettled him more than anything.

"I should kill you where you stand," he growled. "It would be a mercy."

She shook her pretty head and looked up at him, taking in his face, scars and all.

"A false mercy, now that I have finally found a way to be free. Life hurts more than songs, I know that much but I can finally put myself together. Can't you see? I shall write my own song."

His hand moved before he realized what he was doing. He put it on her forehead, trying to determine if she was feverish but her skin was cool to touch and aside from her nonsensical chirping, she looked perfectly healthy. She leaned into his touch, her own hand raising to keep his larger one against her face and her smile could have blinded the sun.

* * *

The Hound, Sandor, was an important part of her song, too. The man was ugly and cruel on the outside but with a surprising wealth of gentleness and kindness when it came to her. He served the evil king but he pitied the imprisoned bird nonetheless. It was like in the songs. The knights who had said the vows and been blessed in the sept proved false and yet the man who denied the knighthood was the one who came closest to being one in truth.

Even his cruel words were meant well. He warned her, he advised her, he seemed to care for her. When he put his hand on her forehead to check her for fever, Sansa almost shivered. He had big hands, one of them easily covering half of her head and she leant into it and put her own hand over his to keep it in place. He had strong hands and could break her easily but he had never touched her ungently.

She smiled at his surprised expression and stepped closer to him, feeling brave and reckless in the midst of the corridor that, though empty for the moment, could be filled with people anytime soon.

"I shall write my own song," she repeated, taking his other hand and threading their fingers together. "A song of a bird imprisoned by a lion cub and of a dog who was the only one who would take pity on the bird. And the bird will grow into a wolf and run away from her cage because she was never meant to be caged."

"And what of the dog?" he asked, his voice rough and grating but he wasn't putting distance between them and Sansa took it for an encouragement.

"The dog will go with her, if he wants to. Dogs are closer to wolves than to lions, are they not?"

He was regarding her with a strange expression on his face and Sansa finally identified it as an indecision. He wanted her words to be true but didn't want to give her false hopes.

"You're talking about a treason," he rasped at last.

"I am talking about a song ," she corrected him before stepping back from him, his hand sliding down her face, neck and arm before he pulled it away. "One I will sing to you gladly, if you want me to."

"You have gone mad, girl."

"Maybe I did," she agreed pleasantly as she put her dainty hand on his arm and started walking again. "But it is a madness of my own doing and that is the only thing that matters."

And there was nothing he could say to that and they walked in silence until they reached her room. At the threshold, well aware of the prying eyes and eager ears of her handmaids, Sansa turned to him, smiling again.

"Thank you for bringing me safely back."

"Save your thanks for the men who want them," he replied as he was wont to do but Sansa wasn't deterred by his roughness anymore. He couldn't show his better side before witnesses. The song demanded he played his role until well into the story and she understood that.

"Have a good day," she said and slipped into her room, listening as his heavy footsteps faded away before moving further into her room and asking her handmaids to fetch her a quill, an ink and a parchment. She couldn't waste time. She had a song to write.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note:** Due to several people's comments, I have decided to continue with this story idea. Having given it a lot of thought, I have chosen a direction where the plot could head without making it a rehash of the old "SanSan hightail it out of KL and go to Riverrun/Winterfell/Vale together" thing. Not that there's anything wrong with those stories but I wanted to try something new. Took a lot of staring at a map and I'm still working up a tentative timeline so I may take a refuge in an AUness now and then, delaying some events for a little while. For this story's purpose, the first part took place after Joffrey had Sansa beaten for the Oxcross but before the bread riots.  
**Disclaimer:** G.R.R. Martin is the mastermind behind the series. This is merely a fan venture, I stand to gain no profit from it.

* * *

The best lies are those closest to the truth, Sansa realized very soon.

"I hear you have recently taken up poetry writing," the Queen Regent was regarding Sansa with her beautiful green eyes, waiting for the slightest hint of uncertainty in the girl's behaviour.

"Yes, Your Grace."

"Why?"

Sansa tilted her head to the side thoughtfully.

"It is a way to pass time, Your Grace. There are not many things to occupy me and I find myself growing bored."

The Queen took a sip from her cup and then put it down, leaning forward to stare at Sansa. Sansa was startled to realize she was now as tall as the Queen and had no longer to look up at the golden-haired woman as she had before.

"Tell me, Sansa. What are your little poems about?"

"Flowers, Your Grace. And sunsets and nightingales. Silly little things, I'm afraid," Sansa confessed, looking down at her lap and at her fingers twisting nervously together.

"Silly little things you say. Well, you are still a child," the Queen smiled. "It shouldn't be long before you flower, though and become a woman."

Suppressing the stab of fear that had run through her at the thought, well aware what becoming a woman meant for her, Sansa nodded meekly.

"I know, Your Grace."

"The wedding would have to wait, of course, at least until the fighting is done. You are glad of that, aren't you?" the Queen had a mocking expression on her face, most likely expecting a stammered and insincere denial but Sansa surprised her.

"Yes, I'm glad of that, Your Grace," she agreed, looking the woman opposite her directly in the eye. The Queen frowned at this and picked up her cup again.

"Surprisingly honest of you, Sansa dear. Don't tell me you are growing a spine now of all times," the Queen laughed.

"No, Your Grace. It's just I'm not ready to be Joffrey's His Grace's," Sansa corrected herself, "wife. There are so many things I don't know yet, about being a Queen. His Grace says I'm stupid and he's right in a way. But I can learn what I need to know, given enough time."

The Queen hummed thoughtfully.

"You mean to tell me you actually want to marry my son and be a good wife and Queen to him?"

Sansa shook her head and smiled sadly.

"I am a highborn lady. My wants regarding marriage aren't important. I know my duty. It is a fate of all girls like me."

"You are right in that," the Queen agreed and for a moment, Sansa could see sympathy in her eyes. Sympathy and regret but it was gone almost as soon as it appeared and the Queen wore her inscrutable mask once more. Sansa lowered her head, more certain than ever that she didn't want any part of this the court life and betrothal to the King anymore. She just wanted to go home but for that, she needed to tread carefully. And she needed one thing above all.

"Your Grace? Would it be possible for me to be given an access to the library? I'd like to start studying as soon as possible."

"By all means, girl," the Queen waved her request off as unimportant. "Shut yourself off with all those dusty books if you wish."

"Thank you, Your Grace," Sansa stood up, smoothing her skirts down. "I shall take my leave, then, with your permission."

She dropped into a curtsey, her court manners impeccable as usual but the Queen was already ignoring her, pouring herself another cup of wine. Sansa allowed herself a smile as she walked out of the room and she greeted her escort for the day pleasantly.

"Good day, Ser Arys."

"My lady," Ser Arys Oakheart gave a small bow before offering her an arm. Sansa liked Ser Arys and his pleasant manners but she didn't trust him any more than she did most of his other Sworn Brothers of the Kingsguard. He was, after all, loyal to the King and giving a token protest at her behalf accounted for nothing in the end for the result was the same for her. But he liked gossip and Sansa could use him as a source of information. She was starting to realize that men liked to talk to pretty women and the shallower the women seemed, the more the men felt comfortable revealing to them.

"I wonder how long the war will go on," Sansa sighed and Ser Arys hastened to reassure her as she knew he would.

"Certainly not for long, my lady. Lord Tywin will have the Northerners on the run soon."

"But my traitor brother is ravaging the Westerlands, I hear," Sansa pointed out.

"But he has limited supply lines, my lady. If he has any sense, he will pull back to Riverlands soon."

"Oh," Sansa intoned. "I hope you are right. But what about Lord Stannis? The rumours say that he will attack King's Landing directly."

"The city was built to withstand a siege, my lady, have no fear. Lord Stannis will not take it."

"And when was the last time you were in a besieged city, Oakheart?" the rough, growling voice of the Hound came from behind them and Sansa felt as Ser Arys' arm jerked in surprise. She was startled herself, even though she had observed before that the Hound could move very quietly for a man of his size.

"You startled me, Ser," Ser Arys started saying but the Hound interrupted him rudely.

"Some guard you are, you and your Sers," he snorted. "The Imp's been looking for you. Some important business he said."

"Ah, but Lady Sansa..." Ser Arys glanced at her and she smiled sweetly up at him.

"Don't worry, Ser. I'm sure your Sworn Brother will escort me in your stead. The Hand of the King has a need of you, that takes precedence over the likes of me."

"As my lady wishes," Ser Arys bowed to her and strode off, his white cloak billowing behind him. Sansa watched him go and then turned to the Hound.

"Shall we go, my lord?"

"I don't know which is worse their Sers or your lords," the Hound rasped and Sansa shrugged elegantly before starting walking.

"What else should I call you then?"

"What everyone calls me, little bird."

"I couldn't," Sansa shook her head. "It wouldn't be polite."

"I don't mind," he pointed out but Sansa was determined.

"I do. So you will have to deal with it," she stated and glanced up at him to gauge his reaction. The burnt side of his mouth twitched before it settled into its usual impassivity.

"It seems so, little bird," he glanced at their surroundings. "Where are you going, anyway?"

"To the library. I need to study."

"Do you now?"

Sansa took a deep breath. If there was anyone in the city she felt she could trust, it was him. He had been unfailingly honest with her and he appeared to feel compassion for her. He might be willing to help her because she knew she wouldn't be able to pull off her plan on her own, even if the plan was still only a little more than just a vague idea in the back of her mind.

"You said once a dog would never lie to you. Is that true?"

He glanced down at her, hearing this non-sequitur but Sansa kept her gaze on her feet, not daring to raise them to see his expression. Not yet.

"It's true," he confirmed and Sansa felt like her heart would flutter out of her chest from her daring.

"The bird is ready to turn into a wolf and run away but she needs help," she spoke, knowing he would understand. "Will the dog help her?"

There was a long silence before the Hound let out a ragged breath of his own.

"Yes, he will."

"Thank you," she whispered, her lips spreading into a wide smile. They walked in silence after that, both of them immersed in thoughts of what they had just agreed on until they reached the library. It was empty save for a scribe who was copying some manuscript down and at Sansa's quietly spoken inquiry directed them towards the back of the room.

"Maps, little bird?" the Hound asked when Sansa started pulling out the big rolls and spreading them on a nearby table. "Very obvious."

"A Queen should be familiar with her lands," Sansa retorted as she looked at the parchment in front of her. The mass of lines and colours held no meaning for her and she suddenly realized that her education as a lady left out reading of the maps. Her distress must have shown on her face because the Hound glanced first at her and then at the map and let out a grating, unpleasant bark of laughter.

"Can't read the map, little bird?"

"No," she admitted before looking pleadingly at him. "Could you explain it to me?"

He didn't look very happy about her request but he came to stand next to her and started pointing at the map.

"This is the map of Westerlands. Casterly Rock is here," he pointed to a symbol of a seven-pointed star with a tiny writing next to it. "This brown line is the River Road. This is the Gold Road. Blue lines are rivers Blackwater Rush, Red Fork and so on. Grey areas are mountains, green ones are woods. These small symbols show keeps and castles and towns. Do you understand?"

Sansa was trying to absorb it all, looking intently down. She pointed to one place after reading the legend next to it.

"This is Oxcross, isn't it?"

"Yes, little bird. That is Oxcross."

Sansa shifted uncomfortably. It took a better part of a week for the pain to go away after Joffrey had her beaten for Robb's victory in that place. And here it was, reduced to a small speck on the map which she could easily cover with one of her fingertips.

"Where is Riverrun?" she asked and the Hound rolled up that map and spread out another.

"Riverrun is here, where Tumblestone and Red Fork come together."

"And King's Landing?"

"Here."

"It's so far," Sansa whispered. But she couldn't feel discouraged. Her journey was going to be longer still. "I'll need to copy that and mark down the inns and towns."

"So they can find out about your little plan?" the Hound snorted. "I thought you were smarter than that."

"I want them to find the map, half-burnt in the hearth of my room," Sansa smiled because she was sure she was going to impress him with this part of her plan. "When I disappear, they will immediately assume I'm trying to get to my family as soon as I can. And when they find the burnt map which clearly marks the road I was intending to take, they will focus their search there."

"A diversion," the Hound said in understanding. When he looked at her, Sansa could have sworn there was an admiration in his gaze. "Now that is smart of you, little bird. And where will you fly off while everyone is looking for you between here and Riverrun?"

"Essos," Sansa spoke the name reverently. "I won't escape by land because that's what everyone will expect of me. I will board a ship to Pentos or Braavos or Myr or some other of the Free Cities. And I will make my way home by sea, to White Harbor, perhaps. Lord Manderly is a devoted bannerman of Starks. He will help me get back to Winterfell. I will be safe there."

"How will you secure a ship, though? One word in wrong ear and you'll be found out."

Sansa rolled up the map and put it away before looking up at him.

"That's why I will need your help. I won't secure a ship beforehand. When the time is right, we will snuck out of the Red Keep, go down to the harbour, find the next ship leaving for Essos and board it right before it sets sail. There won't be time for them to betray me."

"And you think a captain will just accept a new passenger?"

"Two passengers," Sansa corrected. "And yes, he will if one of them is you."

"So you meant it when you said you would take me with you," he spoke slowly, looking at her intently. Sansa looked down.

"You are the only person I can trust."

"Little bird," he sighed before he tipped her chin up to make her look at him. "You're going to put your faith in a dog like me? Truly?"

"Yes, I am," she kept her eyes on his and he was the first to look away.

"Foolish little bird," he let go of her face. "What about money? You'll have to pay your passage in some way."

"I have my jewels. They can be sold."

"You have thought of everything, little bird, haven't you?"

Sansa smiled at the veiled praise and started cleaning the table. She would come back later with a quill and a parchment and copy the maps she needed but that could be easily done another day. She had already made a considerable progress with her escape plan. And the Hound had said he would go with her. She knew he would keep her safe. Now all that was needed was to wait for the right moment. But Sansa had learned to be patient. A couple of weeks would make no difference, now that the freedom was so tantalazingly close.


	3. Chapter 3

**Content notices: **off-screen violence/gore (it's the bread riots, what did you expect?)  
**Disclaimer:** G.R.R. Martin is the mastermind behind the series. This is merely a fan venture, I stand to gain no profit from it.

* * *

The godswood was just as quiet as always as Sansa picked her path carefully, the falling twilight making it harder to see in the encroaching darkness. It was her first visit in nearly a moon turn and she wondered if Ser Dontos would be present. She had seen him around the court but she hadn't approached him and neither had he approached her. She felt sorry for what she was about to do to him but her song had changed and it would not be right to let Ser Dontos think he still had a part to play.

She was grateful to him, she truly was, for trying to spirit her away but words were not going to help her and words had been all she had received from him. Florian and Jonquil was a beautiful song but Sansa was no longer content being a Jonquil. She was not going to wait for someone to save her, she was going to save herself.

"My dear Jonquil, is that you?"

A shadow moved behind one tree and Ser Dontos stumbled out from behind, drunk. _I'm sure the real Florian wasn't drunk all of the time,_ Sansa thought unkindly before feeling ashamed of herself. Ser Dontos did his best, he just fell short of her expectations.

"Yes, I'm here, ser."

"Dear child, you were gone for so long," Ser Dontos weeped as he reached to pat her hand. "I was afraid they had done something terrible to you, to make you afraid of coming."

"They had not, ser," Sansa took a step away and looked at the man with pity. She felt like the most cruel person in the world. "You swore me an oath to take me home, isn't that right?"

"Yes, yes, I did but I told you child, we need to be patient. I have a friend, a good friend who will help us-"

"You told someone else?" Sansa interrupted him, for once forgetting her courtesies in the face of her fear. Who was it who knew of her desire to flee? Was she being watched? Would her plan fail? Ser Dontos stumbled back at her sudden outburst.

"No need to fear, Jonquil. He is a good man, he won't betray us."

Sansa took a deep breath to calm herself. She could not be scared, not now.

"Ser Dontos, I came here tonight with one purpose and that was to release you from your oath to me."

"To release me?" he repeated after her unbelievingly. "But you want to go home, child, don't you?"

"Not anymore," Sansa spoke the lie convincingly enough, she felt. She was becoming a better liar as of late but she wasn't entirely lying, either. She wanted to leave the King's Landing first. Then she would start thinking of getting home.

"What happened to you, Jonquil?" Ser Dontos asked brokenly and Sansa drew herself up. _I am of the North. I am the blood of a wolf. I have to be strong and harsh when needed._

"I grew out of the song, ser," she spoke coldly. "I shall honour my late father's wishes. I thank you for helping me as much as you could but I can no longer run away from my fate. I'm truly grateful," she added more softly, "but you can't help me anymore. I'm sorry."

Turning away from the former knight, Sansa walked out of the godswood, forcing herself to walk slowly. She listened to see if Ser Dontos would give chase, to try and persuade her to change her mind but there was only silence. _A real Florian wouldn't give up so easily,_ was the thought that flitted through her mind but she suppressed it. Florian and Jonquil was no longer her song, if it ever had been. _Maybe all of us have to write our own songs,_ she realized and found that the thought lifted her spirits considerably, _We cannot live someone else's song, only our own and I'm going to live mine._

And even though she was walking back to her cage, Sansa smiled.

* * *

The day set for Myrcella's send-off dawned bright and clear. Sandor Clegane made his way to the little bird's room, all the time cursing himself for a thrice-damned fool. It had seemed a good idea last night when he had drunk three skins of wine and heard of the trouble in Flea Bottom. Everyone with half-a-brain knew that the city was close to erupting in chaos. The food was scarce, people were discontent and the increased presence of the City Guard made about as much difference as one man pissing in the river made difference in its level.

The Imp ordered a full contingent of the gold cloaks to guard the courtiers who would be seeing Myrcella off and he deployed all five remaining members of the Kingsguard to guard the King and his family. As much as Sandor disliked the little bugger, he couldn't underestimate his own instincts which agreed with the Imp. There was a threat of violence in the air, apparent to all who made violence their job.

And that's why he found himself standing in front of the door to Sansa Stark's room, clutching a dagger even as he raised his hand to knock. He heard shuffling from within and then a maid emerged, hurrying past without looking at him. And then Sansa herself approached the door, a small smile appearing on her face before she slipped her court mask on.

"Good morning, my lord," she greeted and Sandor almost growled at her that he was no lord but as she met his eyes, he could see she was prepared for the rebuke and would just shrug it off.

She had grown so much over the past few weeks, ever since she had started spouting that nonsense about writing her own song and planning her own escape with ingenuity that had surprised him. Looking at her, she was no more than a slip of a girl, barely starting to turn into a woman. But she had that quiet dignity of hers that she wore like a cloak and when she chirped her courtesies at him, there was an honesty in her words that was lacking in everyone else.

"Are you ready to go, little bird?"

"Yes, we can go."

She stepped out of her door and he held out the sheathed dagger to her, making her look uncomprehendingly at him.

"Just take it," he growled and she timidly reached out, taking hold of the small weapon.

"Why?" she asked as she turned it over, pulling it half an inch from the sheath, studying it curiously.

"A wolf has claws, little bird. Didn't you say you wanted to become a wolf?"

She looked up at him, her blue eyes wide in surprise.

"But I don't know how to wield it."

Sandor snorted at that.

"Wield it? It's not a greatsword, little bird. You stab it in the first soft part you find - neck or eyes or belly. Eyes are the best, though. Not much strength needed to drive the point through."

She grimaced at that and tried to hand the dagger back to him.

"I don't need it."

"We are going into the port today. We have to pass through half of the damn city and it's dangerous out there."

"But we'll have guards with us," she protested even as her lax grip on the dagger grew stronger.

"Do you think those guards will care for your life more than they do for their own miserable ones?"

She shook her head slowly. Good, she was learning.

"Here, girl," Sandor took her left arm, turning it wrist up and pulling up her sleeve. "Give me the dagger."

She obeyed and he fastened the sheath to her forearm with practiced movements. He had picked a wrist sheath for two reasons - it being easily concealed under the long, draping sleeves that most of her dresses seemed to possess and an easy access. He dropped her arm when he was done and watched as she fidgeted a bit, unused to the constriction.

"Is it tied too tightly?"

"No," she replied, her right hand disappearing into the left sleeve. She drew the dagger out, holding it gingerly. "Eyes are the best?"

"That's right, little bird."

She put the dagger back and then she straightened, the hesitation disappearing from her manner and the serene courtly mask settling over her face.

"I am ready to go, my lord."

He turned and led her out to the bailey where the horses were already waiting.

* * *

Sansa was still shaking even as Maester Frenken tended to the gash at her forehead, washing it out with swift, sure movements. She had been scared to death when the mob had enclosed her and all of her courage had disappeared._ I am the blood of a wolf,_ she had tried telling herself, trying to force her hand to move, to do as the Hound had advised. But she had sat stiff and scared on her horse, the dagger hidden up her sleeve as useless as if she hadn't been wearing it at all.

And then the Hound had arrived, just as she had started falling, his greatsword cleaving a bloody path through the bodies surrounding her. One man had been reaching for her and his hand had suddenly rolled into the dust, his mouth emitting a terrible scream of pain before another swing of the sword had silenced him. A big hand had shoved her back into her saddle and then the Hound had mounted her horse as well, taking them out of the screaming throng of people.

Sansa had closed her eyes then, pressing her face into his back and holding tightly on to her saviour. She had still been able to hear, though and she had tried very hard not to imagine what the Hound had had to do to get them to safety. She had felt ashamed, though. She had been telling herself how she was going to be a wolf but when the time to prove her words had come, she had been unable to move even her fingers.

"There, my lady, this should take care of it," maester Frenken spoke to her as he spread some kind of poultice on her wound. It stang but Sansa welcomed the distraction of pain.

"Thank you," she said quietly and watched the man gather his supplies and leave her room. Her maids descended on her immediately but when they started tugging at her stained dress to help her change, Sansa remembered the dagger still at her wrist. "No," she told them. "Prepare my bath first. I want to bathe."

They obeyed and left the room in a flurry, giving Sansa a precious few moments to take off the sheathed weapon and hide it under her pillow. She would have to find a better hiding place later. What for, though? She had proved that the dagger was wasted on her. She would do better to give it back.

Her maids came back, carrying her bathing supplies and she let them tend to her. Bathed and dressed in a clean garb, Sansa dismissed them all and sank into a chair, staring out of the window. She could see smoke raising from the city but no sound penetrated this high. Her writing table was to her right, covered in rolls of parchment. Her little poems, the cover for her increased demand on writing supplies. She had almost finished her map, copying down every larger village between King's Landing and Riverrun meticulously. And there was another map she was drawing, the map with the exotic sounding names - Pentos, Tyrosh, Myr, Volantis. She wouldn't be able to choose, she knew. She would have to board any ship that was available and then make her way home from wherever she would end up. For a moment, Sansa smiled as she thought of the strange world beyond the Narrow Sea. Arya might have been the one with a taste for adventure but Sansa was curious about the new things, too. Essos was shrouded in secrets and myths. The magic still thrived there, she had heard. And the women dressed in flowing silks and soft fabrics of wonderful designs.

Sansa sighed. Her wound was throbbing, reminding her mercilessly that for all her dreaming, she was still a prisoner left to the whims of her gaolers. The Hound had had the right of it when he had told her her guards would abandon her to save their lives. He was always right about things like that. But he hadn't left her. He had cut through the mob and saved her life, sending the people who had threatened her scattering like leaves in the wind. He had enjoyed it, too, Sansa realized. When he had sent them running, he had laughed, his sword bloody in his hands and his face strangely joyful.

Her fearsome not-knight. He had given her his protection, promised her help with her escape and tried to arm her so she could defend herself. Had anyone ever done more for her? Sansa couldn't recall. Glancing out of her window, she saw the shadows lengthening, the setting sun casting red glow over the city, making it look like it was on fire. She shivered at the sight, a strange sense of premonition taking hold of her.

Sansa turned away from the window resolutely. She had to find the Hound and thank him. She had forgotten to do so earlier in the day, still in shock over her ordeal and truth be told, she had been whisked away before she could so much as look at him after he put her down from her horse. She had no idea where to look for him, though. Would it be too strange if she were to ask after him? And was it wise to draw attention to their interaction at all?

All the times before, it had been him who had come to her, not the other way around. Were she to go down to the sept to give her thanks to the Seven for protecting her, maybe she would run into him as he went about his duties. Or she could go to the godswood, even if there she risked running into Ser Dontos. She had met the Hound on the serpentine steps once, when she was returning from her first meeting with her poor Florian. It was not that late, Sansa decided as she pulled on a dark cloak and grabbed the dagger. She would walk to the sept to pray and then to the godswood and maybe she would meet him en route.

Sansa opened her door and took a look down the corridor. It was empty, not even a maid walked by. She was oft left alone, though and it suited her plans. Closing the door carefully behind her, Sansa pulled the cloak tighter around herself and set off down the corridor towards the stairs. The sconces were yet to be lit and it was getting dark so she picked her way carefully. When she reached the landing, she moved to go down but then the shadows stirred and a large shape suddenly hulked above her.

Sansa opened her mouth to scream but a heavy hand landed on her shoulder and turned her around and the scream died in her throat. It was the Hound!

"Are you going to scream for help, foolish little bird?" he rasped down at her and Sansa shook her head, relieved by his presence.

"You startled me," she explained, trying to make out his form in the dark better. He let go of her shoulder so suddenly she stumbled.

"Scared out of your wits, girl? Where's that pretty dagger I gave you? You should have had it out the moment you saw me in the dark."

Sansa caught a whif of wine from his direction. He had been drinking, she realized with a dismay. Was every man she knew a drunkard? Even the Queen was in her cups more often than not these days.

"I didn't think-" she started to say when he interrupted her.

"Of course, you didn't think, you fool. You froze completely and waited for someone to rescue you. And you want to be a wolf? Don't make me laugh. You couldn't even stab that son of a whore who was trying to pull you down from the horse. Do you know what the mob did to Lolys Stokeworth? Do you?"

Sansa shook her head mutely, her eyes filling with tears. Why was he being so cruel to her? She didn't even manage to thank him for saving her.

"Half a hundred men raped her," the Hound told her cruelly. "She's a lackwit and fat but they didn't care about that. They would have done the same to you if they got their hands on you. That little gash on your forehead is nothing compared to that."

"But you saved me," Sansa spoke timidly, thinking to calm him down with the reminder but he seemed to grow even more angry.

"Aye, I saved you, little bird. I cut my way through to you while you sat there on your horse, perched like a bird, trembling and unable to raise even one arm to defend yourself. I gave you that dagger for a reason. You should have pulled it out and stabbed that man. You were higher than him and he wouldn't have expected it. You could have saved yourself. But what have you done, little bird? Tell me what you have done."

He was leaning over her, his wine breath washing over her face and Sansa felt her tears starting to fall.

"Why are you being so awful to me?" she asked, her breath catching in her throat and emerging as a sob. "I thought you were kind. I thought you cared for me."

He froze at her words or at her tears, she didn't know and didn't care as she started crying in earnest. She had been so scared earlier, lost in the mob. And then he had saved her, proving himself her protector once again. Yet, here he was, teling her awful things, calling her a coward and a fool. Had she been a fool, to hold him in such regard?

"Little bird?" he said quietly, hesitantly and the gentleness in his voice broke Sansa even more. _I am no wolf,_ she thought in despair._ I am a bird without talons, unable to defend myself. And no amount of borrowed claws will make me into a wolf. I was a fool to think otherwise._

The Hound moved so quickly Sansa barely registered what he was doing. But his arms went around her and pulled her into him, his roughspun tunic harsh under her cheek but she welcomed the warmth he offered and she burrowed deeper into his embrace, her body shaking as she cried out all of her fears and doubts, while his hands held her steady.

"I'm sorry, little bird," she heard him say into her hair. "I didn't mean to chastise you so."

She sniffled but nodded into his chest, accepting his apology.

"I'm not brave," she spoke. "I thought I was but I couldn't bring myself to harm someone else. I couldn't hate those people, though they hated me. I'm not a wolf."

"No, you're not," he agreed with her. "You're still a pup. You have yet to learn to use your claws. Until you do, I will kill anyone trying to hurt you."

"Do you mean it?" she raised her head, looking at his shadowed face.

"Aye, little wolf, I do."

_He called me a little wolf,_ Sansa realized. And as her tears dried, her courage returned with it. She disentangled herself from his arms, straightening her clothes and wiping her face before turning to him. Her protector, her friend, her packmember.

"We will leave King's Landing in a week," she declared and he nodded once.

"As you wish, little wolf."


	4. Chapter 4

He came for her two days after the bread riots.

Sansa was getting ready for bed, dismissing her maids a half an hour beforehand, taking the alone time to study the map of Essos she had copied down in the library. She still didn't know which of the Free Cities they would head to. Pentos, as the closest one, was the logical choice but its relative closeness to King's Landing was also a disadvantage. Were she to be recognized, the message would reach the Queen in a matter of days and every harbour in Westeros would be closely watched for when Sansa came back. No, a more distant port was a better option. Braavos, as the largest of the ports was a possibility but Myrcella had been sent there on her convoluted way to Dorne. The risk of being spotted and apprehended was too great. In the end, it all came down to chance.

Sansa rolled up the parchment and slid it into the binding of a story book she had been using as a hiding place when someone knocked on the door. She recognized the short and sharp noise and she hurriedly unlatched the bolt to let the Hound in. He was dressed in his dark grey armour, not the usual white of the Kingsguard and he was frowning heavily.

"You need to pack quickly, little wolf," he started as soon as he entered and closed the door behind him. "We have to leave tonight."

"Leave?" Sansa repeated. "But I thought we agreed-"

"Stannis' fleet was spotted by Massey's Hook. The Imp plans to close the river on the morrow. Tonight is the last chance for us to leave by ship."

Sansa stood still for a moment longer before she forced herself to move. It was a good thing she had been impatient and already started choosing things she would take along. She pulled out a satchel that usually held her sewing, knowing that taking a chest along wouldn't be possible. She would have to leave the majority of her dresses - silk and velvet and samite - behind, their splendor too conspicuous for a girl on the run. Instead she packed several simple cut dresses from wool for the cold weather and a couple more made of cotton if they were to end up somewhere further south where it was still warm. After a short deliberation she decided to take one of the more fancy dresses as well. She added a nightshift, several changes of smallclothes and her toiletries, all too aware of the man waiting impatiently by the door. The heavy wooden casette with her jewellery was put on top of the dresses, along with the book containing her precious map before she tied the satchel closed and turned to the Hound.

"I'm ready," she declared and saw as the burned side of his mouth twitched in what might have been a smile.

"You want to leave dressed like that?" he nodded at her dressing gown and Sansa flushed with embarrassment.

"I'll change," she spoke quickly and the Hound took the satchel from her hand.

"I'll wait outside. Don't forget your cloak."

Changing and braiding her hair in what was a record time for her, Sansa took one last look around her cage, viciously hoping she would never have to see it again. There was only one thing left to do. Taking the map of the Riverlands, she lit one corner on fire and dropped it in a brazier, watching as the parchment curled in the heat, the edges darkening as the flames consumed their due. Deeming it sufficiently destroyed but still recognizable, Sansa blew on the parchment until it stopped smoking and she regarded her work. Yes, anyone seeing it would think it was an inept attempt to destroy evidence.

Sansa smiled, blew out the candles and the lantern and walked out the door to her freedom.

* * *

Sandor wasn't prone to impatient shifting when having to wait. Years of guard duty taught him to stand still as a statue when needed but the little wolf was taking too long. When she finally cracked open the door and slipped into the corridor, he let out a sigh of relief.

"About time," he spoke gruffly. "C'mon girl, we don't have much time."

"Why?" she asked as she pulled the hood of her cloak up to cover her bright red hair. Good, she didn't need to be told that.

"The ships that want to catch the morning tide will be leaving around midnight. Did you give any thought to where you want to go?"

She shook her head, following him towards the back corridors that usually only the servants used.

"Not Pentos and not Braavos. Beyond that, I have no idea."

"We'll have to take what we can get," he warned her and she nodded solemnly.

"I know," she said, her tone even. "It can't be worse than here, though."

He didn't reply to that. After all, why repeating things that were true? They both kept their silence after that as they descended the back stairs to the ground level, the lower they went, the more noise coming from around them. Sansa drew the hood further into her face.

"Servants don't get to sleep as much as nobility," Sandor told her to explain. "The washerwomen will be leaving soon. You'll slip out among them. I'll wait for you outside the gates."

She looked up at him, considering before she nodded. As they came to the last landing, he handed the satchel back to her and pointed at a group of women who were gathering before the back gate of the Holdfast.

"Keep your head down and follow the group. Don't tarry and try not to look scared. Act like you belong there."

She kept nodding but he could see she was getting nervous. Taking a quick look around and seeing that there was no one close, he tipped her face up so their eyes met.

"You are a wolf, girl, remember? They are just sheep. Do you understand?"

Her answering nod was still far from confident but she wasn't shaking as much and he took it as a good sign. He pushed her towards the washerwomen.

"Go. I'll wait for you outside."

He watched until he saw her join the rest of the women and then went across the yard towards where he had left his horse. There was no way in seven hells he was leaving Stranger behind. The horse was coming with him, his one condition that he would insist upon if the girl protested. He mounted the black courser and set off at a leisurely pace towards the main gate and the drawbridge. Balon Swann held the guard that night, his newly named brother-in-arms after Greenfield had been killed. He was a little more than a boy but seemed more decent than the rest of them. Not that it counted for much.

"Good evening, Ser," Swann greeted him and Sandor gritted his teeth. Will those idiots never learn?

"I'm no ser," he rasped, pleased by the involuntary step that Swann took back at the treatening tone, "and the evening will be good once I have a flagon of Arbor red in my stomach. Let me pass."

"Why are you going on a horse?" the man questioned bravely and Sandor gave a nasty smile.

"It's my night off and I plan on getting drunk off my ass, boy," he explained. "Walking back to the fucking Keep would be a bother. Now, are you going to let me pass or do I get to start my night by beating the shit out of you?"

He knew that Swann wouldn't take him up on that. Sandor's reputation preceded him and even the supposed elite of the Seven Kingdoms would think twice before challenging him. And Swann was obviously getting attached to that pretty white cloak already. He wouldn't want to spoil it. He stepped aside, letting Sandor pass.

"Smart boy," Sandor told him as he passed him by and nudged Stranger into a canter. He crossed the bailey, having much less trouble with the guards at the main gates to the Red Keep itself. They were used to his nightly excursions into the city and let him through without asking any questions. He circled the keep until he came upon the gate that servants used. A long line of washerwomen was walking out as he arrived and he scanned the group for the tall girl with hooded face. He found her at the back of the group, walking slowly as her head moved from side to side. He walked his horse closer until she spotted him. She separated herself from the women and walked towards him, still keeping her face down. Smart girl. Some of the women glanced over when he reached down and hoisted her up behind him but they averted their looks just as quickly. They must have assumed he had arranged this meeting with one of the servant girls, paying her a good coin for keeping him company for a night. He would be hardly the only man to do so.

"Any trouble?" he inquired as she settled herself comfortably behind his back.

"No. The guards didn't even bother to check us and the other women kept their distance, too."

"Good," he told her and waited for the inevitable question.

"Is this your horse?"

"Yes," he replied. "I'm taking him with me."

He felt her nod against his back, her satchel bumping his leg as Stranger carried them down the streets towards the harbour.

"What's his name?" she asked curiously and Sandor smirked.

"Stranger," he said and barked out a short laugh at her scandalized gasp.

"But that's..." she stammered.

"Blasphemy?" he offered. "Spare me, little wolf. He's a fucking war horse. He's almost as deadly as me. He can kick in a man's head or chew off his fingers before the bugger knows what happened."

"He's so dangerous?"

He could almost imagine her wide eyes as she digested the information.

"Just don't try to touch him and you'll be fine."

She fell silent but he felt her move even closer to him, as if afraid that Stranger would be able to bite her while she sat on his back, safely out of reach. The quietness of the streets around the Keep gave way to the bright lights and noises of the taverns and an occasional brothel, the bustling humanity belying the impending siege. Sandor led the horse down to the wharves where several galleys and cogs were moored. He watched the ships for the signs of movement. Most of them were quiet and dark, their crews ashore taking their pleasures in the winesinks and brothels of the city. But there were several that swarmed with sailors and oarsmen, even dock workers carrying the various cargo aboard.

Sandor spotted a man leaning against a corner of the tavern, obviously taking a break from drinking if the retching sounds were anything to go by. Good, he would be too drunk in the morning to remember them.

"Hey, you," Sandor called out when the man straightened and attempted to stumble back into the tavern. The man turned and squinted up at them as Sandor moved so that the light was behind them, casting the horse and his two riders into a shadow.

"Yes, m'lord?"

"Any of those ships leaving for Essos tonight?"

"Who's askin'?" the man said and Sandor flipped him a silver coin which the man managed to snag from the air, though it was a close thing.

"A stag."

The man looked at the coin and then grinned up at Sandor, revealing a mouth with almost half of his teeth missing.

"Always glad to serve, m'lord. There be Titan's Fist that go to Braavos," he pointed at a large galleas. "And those two be headin' for Pentos, the Sea Beauty and Happy Merman," the two ships were small trading cogs. "And Rhoynar Queen, over there," he pointed at a massive galley with two rows of oars. "She be sailin' to Tyrosh, I thin'."

"Any other?"

"Not tonight, m'lord."

Sandor nodded and nudged the horse away, the drunkard already heading back into a tavern to spend his silver. With the cheap wine they served, he wouldn't remember his name come morning, nevermind encountering Sandor.

"It seems it will be Tyrosh, little wolf," he said to the girl sitting behind him. "Is that alright with you?"

"Yes," she spoke. "It's not like we have a choice."

"We could always risk a Westerosi harbour," he reminded her but Sansa shook her head.

"No, I don't think it would be safe."

"True," he acknowledged. The Rhoynar Queen loomed over them, her deck a hive of activity, the commands in a strange language being shouted as it prepared for sailing out. Sandor had Stranger walk up the gangplank, the well trained horse keeping his balance easily on the swaying wood. Some of the crew stopped what they were doing and stared at them but Sandor ignored them as Stranger walked on board. A large man with a bushy beard strode importantly down from the upper deck as soon as he spotted them.

"We seek passage to Essos," Sandor told him before the other man, obviously a captain, could speak up.

"We?" the man said. "Who would be we?"

His Common Tongue was heavily accented but otherwise fluent and in the light of the lanterns Sandor could see his beard was dyed green.

"Me, the girl, the horse and the silence," Sandor replied and the captain nodded.

"Aye, never let it be said Favio Tymis turned away people in need. Four seek the passage, four will pay for the passage. A dragon each to take you to Tyrosh, another dragon for Lys, two dragons for Volantis."

"Agreed," Sandor said and pulled out five golden pieces from his pouch. He could feel Sansa stirring behind him and he reached down and squeezed her knee to keep her quiet. "Another dragon and the girl gets her own cabin."

The captain took the coins and gestured towards the deck with a wide smile behind his dyed beard.

"Welcome to Rhoynar Queen, my friends."

* * *

Tyrion Lannister had a queer feeling that something was going to go terribly wrong that day. He expected trouble at the harbour, of course, once the captains realized their ships were to be impounded and used in the upcoming battle but this was diferent. Of course, it might have been the fact that Varys was breaking fast with him, the eunuch eating almost daintily while providing Tyrion with some interesting tidbits from King's Landing. Tyrion himself only played with the food on his plate and when a young servant maid entered hurriedly, he pushed the plate away almost gratefully.

"What is it, Laila?" he asked the girl whom he recognized as his own informer amidst Sansa Stark's Queen provided retinue of handmaids. "Something wrong with Lady Stark?"

"She's gone, my lord," the girl panted out. The poor girl must have run all the way to his solar to inform him. "Lady Sansa's not in her room."

"Are you sure?" Tyrion was aware of Varys watching eagerly and wondered if this was news to the Master of Whisperers or not. He looked surprised, to be sure, but the man was a capable liar.

"Yes, my lord Hand. Her dark cloak is gone and so is that book she was reading recently. Even some of her dresses. The ordinary ones," the girl supplied. Tyrion frowned.

"Thank you. Wait outside and send me the guard."

The girl obeyed and Tyrion quickly ordered the guard to close down the Red Keep and have it searched for the girl. A futile gesture, he knew, but Cersei would arrive in all her angry glory soon, her own informers scampering to her just as fast as his own had to him and he needed to be able to tell her he was taking steps to find the Stark girl. Varys didn't move from his spot the whole time and Tyrion turned to him angrily.

"Did you know about this?"

"You mean Lady Sansa's escape attempt, my lord?" Varys folded his hands across his ample stomach. "I did not, otherwise I would have interferred. As you very well know, my lord," he added. Tyrion forced himself to calm down. Varys had already spoiled several other attempts at escape by some of the other noble hostages in King's Landing. Still, it was hard to say if Sansa Stark's escape wasn't part of some elaborate plan of the eunuch. To what end, Tyrion had no idea.

"I didn't expect it of her," he admitted. "She looked resigned to the idea of staying here. And she knew I planned to send her back to her family."

"Why should she trust a Lannister, my lord?" Varys pointed out and Tyrion glared at him, unfortunately having no reproach to his words. No, Sansa Stark had every reason to distrust Lannisters, even those who meant her well. Tyrion poured himself a full cup of wine, trying to steel his nerves for the inevitable confrontation with Cersei who would certainly blame him for this.

"You should start looking for her as well," Tyrion commented when he saw that Varys was not moving from his spot.

"And for her accomplice, of course," Varys added smoothly, Tyrion blinking as he realized that the man was right. Sansa Stark was a girl of twelve, far from her family and friends. She wouldn't have courage to escape on her own. Someone must have helped her.

"Bugger it all," Tyrion cursed. "We'll have to do a head count of all the servants, find out who's missing-"

"If I may interrupt, my lord," Varys spoke up. "I don't think you should look further than the Kingsguard."

"Kingsguard?" Tyrion repeated and then he finally understood. "What aren't you telling me, Lord Varys?" he asked, his voice dropping dangerously.

"Two nights ago, one of my little birds witnessed a private scene between Lady Sansa and a member of the Kingsguard."

"Who?" Tyrion asked, dumbfounded by this revelation. A Kingsguard knight was the last person he could imagine helping Sansa Stark or her trusting them to do so. They had all at one point or another beat her at Joffrey's orders. No, Tyrion frowned. That wasn't right. According to his information, one member of the Kingsguard had never touched the girl with an intent to harm her.

"Sandor Clegane, my lord," Varys told him and nodded sagely.

"The Hound?" Tyrion repeated disbelievingly. He couldn't imagine that the large brute who had been Joffrey's sworn shield for years would have any contact with the Stark girl beyond occasionaly escorting her. Or that she would allow him any further contact beyond that.

"I know," Varys sighed. "I have to confess, I never meant to disclose their encounter. Blame it on my soft heart. But it was the day of the riots and as my bird informed me, Lady Sansa was thanking him for saving her life earlier that day. Apparently, she got overwhelmed by her memories and started crying and he comforted her. Who was I to begrudge her that? Or to despoil such a tender moment by talking of it?"

Putting aside the weird image of the Hound comforting anyone, much less the soft and timid Sansa Stark, Tyrion focused on Varys' implications.

"And based on this one information, you believe that he was the one who helped her escape?"

"Who else, my lord?" Varys said. "The members of the Kingsguard and her handmaids are the only people who have had regular contact with her other than the royal family. If she was to seek help, a skilled warrior would be her best choice."

"I can't believe that," Tyrion mumbled to himself. If the Hound was indeed the one helping her, Sansa Stark was as good as gone. With Stannis approaching from both land and water, he couldn't spare the sufficient amount of men that would be able to overwhelm the Hound and take the girl back. Nevermind that he now lacked a seasoned battle commander to lead the sorties.

"My lord?" a guard entered carrying a scrap of parchment. "We found this half-burned in Lady Stark's brazier."

Tyrion looked down at the singed parchment. He recognized the lines and dots covering it. A map of Riverlands, with Riverrun circled and underneath in a clear, feminine handwriting a single word.

HOME

"Damn it all to seven hells," Tyrion muttered. Sansa Stark was gone.


	5. Chapter 5

**Content notices:** language, mentions of violence

* * *

Sansa hadn't expected to fall asleep as fast as she had. The swaying of the ship was very calming, though and the bed in her cabin was clean and comfortable and once she laid down and closed her eyes, the sleep claimed her quickly.

She woke up late in the morning or so she judged by the light streaming through the small window. The Hound was nowhere near and she remembered him saying he was going to talk to the captain about the best way to confine Stranger in the hold. She couldn't recall him coming back before she fell asleep. The dim light in the cabin was enough to let her see someone had been in earlier, leaving a jug of water and a basin for washing.

The water was cold but it helped her wake up properly and Sansa dressed in one of her warmer dresses, recalling how chilly the air had been last night. She let her hair hung loosely down her back, held back by two small braids - a northern fashion instead of the complicated southern creations. Opening the cabin door, Sansa's ears were hit with a mix of unusual sounds. The creaking of wood, flapping of the sails, splash of the water against the hull, seagulls crying out as they circled above the masts, the foreign language of Essos being shouted back and forth across the deck, all of them were new and exciting for her. Sansa walked out, closing the door behind her. Some of the men nearby looked at her and she ducked her head, embarrassed by the attention.

"Finally woke up, girl?" the Hound's voice came from her right and she looked up to see him standing with the captain by the stairs to the upper deck. She hadn't seen much last night, the lanterns' light not sufficient and she couldn't help but stare for a moment before she remembered her courtesies and looked away quickly. The captain's bushy beard was green, a vivid shade the likes of which were rarely seen. Sansa had read about the Tyroshi custom of dyeing their hair and beards but seeing it for herself was still unusual.

She walked slowly towards the two men, the motion of the ship under her feet upsetting her balance slightly but not enough to make her stumble.

"Good morning, my lords," she greeted as she reached them. The Hound only nodded but the captain smiled at her and took her hand, kissing it with an exaggerated courtesy, making Sansa blush.

"You look lovely this morning, Lady..." he trailed off questioningly but the Hound spoke up before Sansa could say anything.

"No names, Captain, as we agreed."

"Ah, that we did, my apologies," the captain said. "But this vision of loveliness made me forget myself for a moment."

"Thank you, Captain," Sansa murmured, unused to such an attention from men. She had been complimented before but never in such a manner. And she hadn't been stared at so boldly, either.

"We are making a good time," the Hound told her, bringing her attention back to their journey and Sansa stepped closer to the wooden railing to look out over the Blackwater Bay that spread out all around the ship. The sun was bright, reflecting off of the water and hurting eyes if one were to stare too long. She could see some rocky spires jutting out of the water a considerable distance away and she pointed at those.

"Are those islands?" she asked and the captain laughed.

"No, my lady. Those are the spears of the merling king, to hunt down the unaware and careless and bring them into his halls. For every spear that is seen, ten others lie hidden beneath, waiting to skewer the hulls of ships that venture too close."

"Oh," Sansa breathed out. The captain had a considerable accent to his words but his common tongue was quite eloquent. He must have been a learned man. A cry from one of the sailors caught his attention and with a rueful smile, the captain took his leave, leaving Sansa and the Hound alone by the railing. Sansa brushed a strand of hair back from her face where the wind kept blowing it, still looking over the bay.

"How are you feeling, girl?" the Hound asked. Sansa looked at him.

"Quite well. I do feel slightly nervous and I find it hard to believe I am really away from there but..." she looked ahead and took a deep breath, the salty tang of the air pleasant to her. "I am free at last. I feel happy."

"That's not what I meant," the Hound snorted. "Do you feel nauseous? Ill?"

Sansa shook her head no.

"Good," he told her. "I've known grown men to turn green and start vomiting the moment they set foot upon a deck of a small ship. It's going to take close to a fortnight to get to Tyrosh if the wind is good and we're not caught up in the autumn storms. At least that's what the captain said."

"Have you ever travelled by a ship before?" Sansa asked, curiously. She didn't know very much about this man she had entrusted her life to. Well, she did know the story of his scars which was something very few had heard and she knew he liked red wine and hated knights and he wouldn't lie to her because that was just not who he was.

"Aye, little wolf, I've been on a ship before," he smirked at her. "Some of the worst days in my life."

"Why?"

"Do you know about the Greyjoy Rebellion, almost ten years back?"

Sansa nodded. She had heard about it, even if she had been but a babe of two back then. Theon had come to live with them after the rebellion had failed and she had never questioned his presence until she had grown up enough to understand her lessons and learn the history and what purpose the noble hostages were meant to serve.

"It was your father's problem at first, when Balon Greyjoy rose in arms. King Robert wouldn't let his friend deal with it alone, though, so he promised help. Even so, Lannisters would have stayed out of it, there was never much love lost between your families but then Victarion Greyjoy attacked Lannisport and burned the lions' fleet. Lord Tywin couldn't stand such an insult, of course and so the Westerlands joined the King. Half of the Lannister forces moved across the land, the other half boarded the ships that Paxter Redwyne and Stannis Baratheon provided. I was among the ones who were sailing. Ten days of rough seas and puking soldiers, living on salted meat and water," he laughed. "I was almost glad when we landed and had to start fighting at once. At least the smell improved. Instead of puke and shit, it was blood and shit."

Sansa wrinkled her nose in disgust.

"Is the lady offended?" the Hound mocked her and Sansa wondered how come he was kind to her one day and then made fun of her the next.

"Must you be so crude?" she asked and he shrugged.

"I call things what they are. The world's full of crude and ugly things. Closing your eyes to them don't make them go away or become prettier. You either deal with it or you don't."

There was truth in his words. Sansa had closed her eyes to Joffrey's true nature for a long time until he had forced her to see him for what he truly was. She had dealt with it as best as she could have, with her courtesies being her only shield against his cruelty. And sometimes even that had not been enough.

Sansa tugged her cloak closer around her. The wind pulled at it playfully, messing up her hair as well and she thought that maybe a braid would serve her better if this weather was to last.

"Were you present at the siege of Pyke?" she asked to steer the conversation back to what it had been. She had heard how the Greyjoys' fort had fallen in a single afternoon after its walls had been breached. Her septa had told her how Thoros of Myr, the funny looking man with a shaved head and red robes, had scaled the walls with his flaming sword in hand and led the attack.

"No, my troop was fighting in Lordsport. It was my first battle command, now that I think about it," he sounded almost surprised by that. "Seven hells, I haven't thought of that in years."

"How old were you?" Sansa asked, realizing she had no idea how old he actually was.

"Seventeen," he replied and barked out a laugh at her shocked face. "What, did you think me older?"

She had, as a matter of fact. He would be only twenty seven then, fifteen years her senior. He looked much older, his scars twisting not only his face but also people's perceptions of him. She might not have been afraid of looking at his face any more but her eyes still deceived her.

"I apologize if I offended you," she told him earnestly but he snorted again.

"I'm hard to offend, girl, so don't worry about that. You better start thinking of where you want to turn from Tyrosh."

"I don't know yet. White Harbour is the largest northern port but Robb and my mother are in Riverlands. Seagard is closer to there but the Iron Islands are in the way and it would be risky," Sansa frowned, trying to recall other details from the maps she had looked at. "Gulltown is in the Vale where my aunt rules and they have stayed out of the war so far. I would be safe there, I think. But it will still come down to what ships are available to us, like it was with this one," and that reminded her of something. "The money you gave the captain for our passage. Where would you get them?"

"They were my own," he stated. "Lannisters are generous to their men and I did win the Hand's tourney. Even I can't drink away forty thousand dragons in a year."

"I thought we would pay for the passage with my jewels," Sansa protested.

"And when were we supposed to sell them, girl? Tell me that," he pointed out and Sansa had to admit he was right. There had been no time, not if they had wanted to maintain the secrecy.

"I will make sure you get it back," she told him and he gave her a queer look.

"As you wish, little wolf," he said and then turned away. "You should eat something. I'll have a meal sent to you."

"Thank you," she told him and added before he could walk away, "For everything."

"You're welcome, little wolf."

He gave her a little nod and left her standing there at the railing, staring at the sea. Their ship was moving away from King's Landing and the Lannisters, bearing her away to an unknown land, seemingly further away from her family. But Sansa knew better. She might have still been far away but she was going home at last.

* * *

Tyrion thought the morning had been bad enough but he had been proven wrong. Cersei had arrived as expected, furious as he had almost never seen her, spitting insults at Sansa Stark, guards of the Keep, Sansa's handmaidens and Tyrion himself in turn. Incompetent, treacherous, ungrateful, lying, all of those and more had been added to their names. Varys had made himself scarce, claiming he was going to question his birds for information. Tyrion had ordered Bronn and several other sellswords from his company to scour the winesinks in the city and try and find the Hound.

Varys might have been sure of his involvement in Sansa Stark's escape but Tyrion would prefer a hard proof. The questioning of the Kingsguard revealed that the Hound had been off duty the previous night and he tended to spend those getting drunk in one of the numerous taverns or winesinks. Ser Balon Swann confirmed seeing him leaving the Holdfast, as did the guards at the Red Keep's gates. His personal room in the White Tower was bare, with few personal effects inside but servants claimed that he had had little of those anyway. His white cloak and scale armour were left behind but since he had always preferred his own garments and only wore the white when necessary, it wasn't a proof of anything. Yet.

"How are you going to find her if you just sit there and do nothing?" Cersei asked from where she sat, a cup of wine in hand. His sweet sister hadn't left him since the morning, eager for any news about the escapee. Tyrion had yet to tell her the Hound was suspected of helping Sansa. He conferred with all of the people reporting to him in quiet voices, careful to keep Cersei out of the loop, only telling her that he was getting reports on how the search was going.

"My dear sister," he poured himself a cup of wine, too, noticing how little of it was left in the jug and he sent Podrick for more. "Unless Sansa is hiding in a very small space somewhere in the castle, I don't see how my presence would be of any help in finding her. I admit that I just sit here but I definitely don't 'do nothing'. You might have missed it but I am coordinating the search efforts."

"It has been half a day already," the Queen pointed out.

"It is a big city out there," he replied calmly. The questioning of the guards at the city gates led to nothing so far, neither did the search parties sent out into the country, though there had been few of those. With Stannis so close to the city, Tyrion simply couldn't afford to waste men just to catch one girl and her possible accomplice, her value as a hostage notwithstanding.

Podrick came in with a new jug of wine and set it down on the table and then turned to Tyrion, looking down at his feet.

"Bronn is here to see his lordship. My lord. To see you, I mean. Lord Hand."

"Send him in," Tyrion told the boy and Bronn entered, giving one of the most horrible bows Tyrion had ever seen in Cersei's direction before looking at Tyrion.

"There's been no sign of him anywhere. My boys and me looked in every damn winesink in this city. Noone seen him and he's pretty hard to miss, with that face of his."

"Damn it," Tyrion cursed. Varys' theory just gained even more validity. If Sansa had escaped alone, she wouldn't have gotten far, Tyrion was sure of that. But with the Hound's help, she could be half-way to Riverrun by now. The man was smart and skilled and he knew the land around the King's Landing quite well. He would be able to get the two of them through the siege quite easily.

"Who were you looking for?" Cersei demanded, obviously listening in. "That little traitor should be the priority, not some soldier of yours who's taking too long to come back from a night of drinking."

Tyrion felt a perverse satisfaction at what he was about to share with Cersei.

"Ah, but it's not my soldier, you see, but one of yours."

"One of mine?"

"Sandor Clegane has been missing since last night. And Varys claims that he and Sansa Stark have been rather close recently."

Watching the comprehension dawn on Cersei's face almost made up for all the annoyance he had felt since the morning.

"No," she denied furiously. "No, she couldn't have."

Seeing an impending eruption, Tyrion gestured Bronn out of the room. Witnessing the Queen losing her temper so spectacularly wouldn't do anyone any good. He, at least, was used to his sister's tantrums.

"Based on what Varys told me and after having searched for him, as well as for the Stark girl, I think that Clegane was the one who helped her escape."

"That lying whore!" Cersei screamed, tossing her empty cup to the floor. "How could she? And that ugly, burned idiot, too! He had everything! What could she have offered to him to make him betray us?"

Tyrion watched his sister rage and scream, feeling slightly detached from it all. It was true that Clegane's loyalty to the Lannisters was legendary. He had guarded Joffrey for years and before that he had been in Cersei's own guard. He had even been raised to the Kingsguard without having to be knighted. He had an important position, status and money. Why risk it all to help one girl? Unless what she had offered had been more than Lannisters could have ever given him.

"She must have spread her legs for him, the cheating slut!" Cersei declared. Tyrion simply couldn't stop his tongue from replying, no matter how much worse he would make the situation.

"Well, you must have been a good teacher then, showing her how to earn men's loyalty, how to buy a sword without paying..." he alluded.

The look Cersei gave him was a pure poison and Tyrion wondered just whom Cersei hated more at the moment - him or Sansa Stark.

"I want them both dead," she ordered.

"Impossible," Tyrion told her and added to forestall further protests, "First, we have to find them which is not so easy as you seem to think. Second, you might get away with killing Clegane - if he is caught which would be no mean feat by itself - but not with killing Sansa Stark. She is still a highborn maid and her crime is, as far as we know, only in escaping. Not exactly the grounds for execution."

"She slept with Clegane! That means she betrayed Joffrey!"

"Putting aside the fact that Littlefinger is negotiating Joffrey's betrothal to Margaery Tyrell even now, making the match with Sansa invalid anyway, you don't know for sure if she did that."

"How else could she have ensured his help?" Cersei hissed.

"You know, sweet sister, you should stop judging people by yourself," Tyrion said. "Sansa Stark is not like you, thank the Seven for that. Maybe, just maybe, Clegane had enough decency left in him to make the decision to help her on his own, without any incentive on her part. As for the last point I meant to make is this: Stannis is marching on the city. His fleet is approaching as well. I'm sorry but two escapees are the last of my troubles right now. Or would be if Clegane wasn't one of them. I meant for him to lead the sorties on the shore. Swann is good but he lacks Clegane's experience in battle. Oakheart is with Myrcella and, to be honest, the rest of the Kingsguard are less than useless. Trant is not trustworthy, Kettleblack has yet to prove anything and Moore couldn't lead the troops into battle if his life depended on it. So, my dear sister, I have more than enough on my hands without you demanding unreasonable things."

Cersei stared at him, her green eyes cold and calculating.

"You will not search for them?"

"I did not say that," Tyrion corrected. "Varys will look for them and he will do it more discreetly than how you wanted to do it. The last thing we need is to become a joke to the people. If anyone asks, Sansa Stark has been sent away from the city for her own protection, with Clegane as her assigned guard. The less is said about the whole affair, the better, I think."

"You think!"

"Yes, Cersei, I do think. Maybe you should try it some time. Might make for a refreshing change."

Tyrion knew he was far more waspish than usual with her but Cersei had been a thorn in his side for a long time. And he really needed to get back to planning if the city was to survive. Soothing his sister's ruffled feathers was not as important as that. She hated him anyway, so why even try and get along with her, as long as she let him do his job properly.

"I want to be informed the moment anything is known about them," she demanded at last and Tyrion nodded and then, finally, Cersei left the room, bearing herself proudly, if somewhat less steadily than usual. It must have been the wine she had drunk. Tyrion sighed and poured himself another cup as well before turning to a list of all the knights remaining in the city. He had a siege to plan for and a city to defend. He couldn't afford to bear grudges, no matter how much they were deserved.

* * *

**A/N:** Okay, just reminding you that this story is an AU, so any inconsistencies with the main canon can be ascribed there. Still, I think my assumption of Sandor's role during the Greyjoys' Rebellion is not far off the mark. His age, also, should be more or less correct. Anyway, I hope to update sooner than in a month but I'm not making any promises. I'm working on another multi-chapter and I'm still writing for kink meme, too.


	6. Chapter 6

The first days of their journey passed without any incidents, the sea being calm and the wind favourable. It all changed once they sailed through the Gullet, leaving the sheltered expanse of the Blackwater Bay. A storm caught them just east off the Stonedance, turning the whole ship into a toy in the hands of the sea and wind. Having grown used to the swaying of the ship, Sansa thought the Hound was overly cautious when he advised her to keep a bucket on hand after Captain Tymis had told them a storm had been coming.

She was glad for his advice after her stomach started roiling in the same rhythm as the waves outside and she ended up emptying her lunch into the wooden pail. The Hound himself spent the duration of the storm in the hold of the ship, keeping his horse calm, lest the animal kick a hole in the hull in its fright. Afterwards, when she expressed her wonder at how he had been able to keep himself from vomiting, he merely told her that it took a lot to turn a dog's stomach and a mild storm was not near enough.

The storm by itself wouldn't have been that bad, even if Sansa could have done without the vomiting. No, the worst part of the whole experience were what she had at first assumed to be hunger cramps. As it turned out, the cramps were not caused by her inability to eat without retching immediately but rather by her first moonblood.

It was quite an inconvenience. She was the only woman on the ship as she had found out on the very first day and with nobody to counsel her, she had to try and remember all she had been told by her mother and septa about it. In the end, she managed to deal with it but it was not a pleasant experience. The pain in her tummy was probably the worst part.

She spent the days of her moonblood in her cabin, reading stories from her books or looking over the maps. She also went through the contents of her jewellery cassette, deciding immediately that the moonstone set she had received from Joffrey would be the first to be sold. She repacked her clothes, thinking she would have to get a chest and some new dresses as well. The ones she had weren't fitting her as well as they used to, her body growing in several places.

Her voluntary confinement ended as they were passing by Tarth, the sea around the island having the most amazing blue colour she had ever seen. The name Sapphire Isle was well deserved, she thought as she gazed at the cliffs rising in the distance. Captain Tymis made a mention of how only four more days would be needed to reach Tyrosh, the wind and sea helping them along rather than hindering.

Other ships would be spotted regularly, of all kinds and shapes - the trading cogs and galleys from Pentos, the majestic swan ships of Summer Isles, the pompous Volantene skiffs, they all sailed either north or south or east or even west. Westeros was torn by war and there was always some skirmish going on in the Disputed Lands but as Captain Tymis pointed out, a war was not only a risk but also a gain for those who knew their business well. And Tyroshi were daring and capable of great feats Sansa would not believe if told about them, the captain claimed regularly at the dinners he invited her to. As he pointed out, a lady of her obvious standing should not be made to eat the same fare as common sailors. Sansa wasn't sure if it was only a compliment or another attempt at finding out her identity.

The Hound had repeatedly told her to keep silent about who she really was because all it would take was one word from the captain and the ship would turn sails - for Storm's End or maybe even back for King's Landing. But Sansa knew that much even without being told. The captain had taken their gold, yes, and he was courteous and polite and even entertaining with his storytelling and coloured hair. That didn't make him trustworthy and Sansa never reacted to his hints about her name or origins.

It didn't seem to bother him. Sansa had a feeling he was doing it only to pass time and not out of a real curiousity. There was an incident where the captain inquired whether the dog's head helmet the Hound possessed came from Tyrosh, since the city's armourers were known for creating such shapes with steel and iron. He was rebuffed rather rudely by the Hound but when Sansa asked the same question later, the Hound told her that his helmet had indeed been forged by a Tyroshi armoursmith living in Lannisport.

It had been on the twelfth day after they had left the King's Landing that they finally reached Tyrosh. Captain Tymis oversaw his crew from the upper deck and asked Sansa to join him as he showed off the large city proudly.

"The Bleeding Tower sits at the mouth of the harbour," he told Sansa in his accented Common Tongue. "It was built after the Freehold fell and the enemies swarmed over her carcass. Tyrosh was taken by the Band of Nine and they left Alequo Adaris as the ruler after they marched on. Alequo ruled for several years as a tyrant and the Tyroshi didn't stand for it for long. The first Archon rose against Alequo and his forces prevailed over those of the tyrant. The Archon then had the tower built and he had the blood of Alequo and his most loyal men mixed into its mortar so that it might stand forever, supported by the lives of the men who sought to keep Tyrosh enslaved. And every morning when the sun rises, the blood seeps through the stone and collects on the surface of the tower, reminding all that Tyrosh is Free."

"Is it true?" Sansa asked, looking at the tall structure they were passing. The captain nodded.

"I would not lie to such a beautiful woman. Tell me, my lady, will you truly be so cruel as to withhold your name from me?"

"I am afraid so," Sansa replied easily, overlooking his dramatics for she had gotten used to them. She looked at the Hound who stood with them as he put his hand on her shoulder.

"You better go and collect your things. We'll be getting off the ship as soon as we're moored."

The Rhoynar Queen glided into the harbour, her movement slowed by the bustling in the port proper. Sansa came to stand by the plank and waited for the Hound to lead his horse out of the hold. The black courser seemed even more dangerous than before, continuously tossing his head and neighing, tugging at the reins and not standing still for a single moment. Then again, he had been confined for twelve days. Sansa knew enough about horses to realize that the poor animal was eager for some proper exercise. She didn't even think about approaching him while he was that agitated, leaving his handling to his owner.

The captain came down to bid them farewell and Sansa found that when she thanked him for the pleasant journey, she truly meant it. The Hound merely nodded at the man, gave him another dragon - for continuing silence, he said - and they stepped off the ship and onto the Essos' soil. The Hound raised her onto Stranger's back despite her protests and nudged the horse into a brisk canter.

"We need to find an inn with a stable," he told her. "Do you want to rest for a few days or should we start looking for a ship immediately?"

Sansa thought it over. The journey by the ship wasn't that bad but she wasn't exactly eager to get back on another so soon.

"Could we start on the morrow?" she asked. "We need to pawn off my jewels and I also need to buy some better fitting dresses for myself."

"Very well, little wolf."

They left the harbour and entered the city itself, Sansa looking around with a barely concealed curiousity. A lot of the people walking or riding around had impossibly coloured hair. Sansa saw green and blue and purple and orange in all shades, often contrasting with the colours of their dresses. She also saw dark-haired and bronze-skinned men with bells in their hair, fair-skinned and pale-haired women in silks, people with a skin as dark as teak and many more. Tyrosh couldn't have been larger than King's Landing but the colours and sounds made it appear ten times as big.

Most of the people talked in the language of the Free Cities, the Valyrian dialects that Sansa had only the barest knowledge of. But now and then, the Common Tongue could be heard as well and the Hound steered the horse in the direction where it was coming from. They found a side street where all of the establishments - the inns, shops, winesinks and even brothels - were meant for the crews from the Westerosi ships and it was there that the Common Tongue prevailed.

The Hound chose one of the larger inns and secured them rooms and board. Sansa gladly ordered a bath for herself before giving the moonstone set of jewels over to him. She wanted them sold as soon as she could, to rid herself of every memory of Joffrey. The maid the innkeeper sent to help her with her bath was a talkative girl who came from Dorne and very soon, Sansa knew which merchant sold the finest fabrics and which tailor was familiar with the newest fashions. She ordered the maid to send for them, guessing that the less she roamed the streets, the better.

Sansa dressed in her best dress after her bath as it was the most comfortable one she owned and had a light supper brought in. The Hound arrived shortly after, gruffly announcing he had managed to find a jeweller who had been more honest than others. The fabric merchant came in the middle of his explanation, bringing samples of his wares with him. For a moment, Sansa felt like the young girl she had been before it all, admiring the texture of the fine silks and cottons and exclaiming over the colours. The tailor was not far behind and Sansa was taken to another room to have her measurements taken, the man assuring her he was going to put all of his workers to work on her order to have it done as soon as possible.

In the end, Sansa commissioned herself ten new dresses for everyday use and four for feasts. Half of those dresses were to be made from warm and heavy fabrics, ideal for colder climates. The other half was to be light and airy for warm countries as Sansa still didn't know just where her path would lead next and she wanted to be prepared.

When she glanced at the Hound, she found him looking immensely bored with all the fuss she made. But he remained in the room despite his boredom, making Sansa realize he was actually taking his role as her protector seriously, as he had promised. She gave him a warm smile in thanks, even if he frowned at her, making her look away quickly.

Happy and content with how her escape had turned out, Sansa insisted on looking around the city before the evening came. She was smiling as she walked down the stairs into the common room of the inn, the Hound following her obediently, if reluctantly. She turned around to ask him if he knew where they should look first and so didn't notice an old man with a white beard stand up from one table and walk towards the stairs. She bumped into him, making them both stagger. Sansa flushed in embarrassment. It was unbecoming of her to be so careless.

"I beg your pardon, my lord," she told the man. "I was being careless and did not pay attention to where I was walking."

The man didn't reply immediately, staring at her as if trying to recall her face from somewhere. She was about to ask him if he was alright when the Hound came down, looking between her and the old man for a moment before laying his hand atop his sword meaningfully.

"Is the old man troubling you, girl?" he rasped, stepping menacingly forward and the old man finally spoke.

"I meant no harm, my lady. You merely reminded me of someone I knew and I was surprised by your appearance."

Sansa smiled at the man and laid a hand at the Hound's arm to keep him at her side. She didn't think the old man was a threat to her. He looked slightly familiar to her as well, but that could be just a coincidence. She didn't know anyone that old who would have a reason to be in Tyrosh.

"It is alright, my lord. It was chiefly my fault," she assured him again and the man nodded.

"I am at fault as well, my lady, so do not trouble yourself anymore," he told her as he gave a half-bow in her direction. "Be safe."

Sansa watched as he walked away, only now noticing the staff he was leaning on. The Hound was looking, no, glaring, after him, too.

"I really feel like I have met him before," she told her protector quietly.

"I'll ask around later, to find out his name," he promised her and led her out of the inn and into the streets. They didn't get far before the Hound tugged her closer, speaking quietly.

"It seems our old friend's as interested in us as we're in him."

"What do you mean?" Sansa asked, about to look back before the Hound tugged at her arm again.

"He's following us, little wolf. Come here," he pulled her into a smaller side street abruptly and pushed her gently into the closest doorway. "Stay here and keep quiet."

Sansa didn't move, though, looking at his as he loosened his sword in its scabbard.

"You are not going to hurt him, are you?"

"Seven hells, girl," he sneered at her. "I want to question him, not to kill him."

She was still stubbornly looking at him, wanting more than just that assurance. She didn't want him hurting that old man just because he happened to go the same way as they did. It wouldn't be just.

"Promise me you won't hurt him," she demanded and the Hound snorted loudly but nodded.

"Very well girl, I'll do my best not to hurt him."

It was the best she was going to get and so she finally obeyed, pressing herself against the dark blue door while he stalked slightly back and leaned against the wall by the entrance to the street. The few people walking by gave him strange looks but hurried past the moment they saw his face properly. Sansa peeped from her hiding place curiously, hoping that the Hound had been wrong and the old man hadn't been following them. She had thought herself safe this far from the King's Landing and she didn't want to lose that feeling.

But when she saw the old man stop at the beginning of the street and slowly move further in, she lost that hope. He was obviously looking for someone. Sansa closed her eyes, recalling his face and trying to remember where she might have seen him. The short white hair, the kind eyes, the long beard, his courteous manners. And then she remembered. A day by the river, Lady still at her side, two strangers talking to the Queen. He hadn't had a beard back then but he had been as gallant as befitted his title as the most renown knight in the Seven Kingdoms.

Sansa opened her eyes, realizing just who that old man was. And with that came the knowledge that he was someone who would never hurt her, for he was one of the few knights who still upheld the ideals and vows attributed to them.

She looked over just in time to see the Hound taking a step into the old knight's path and the knight backing off wearily. Of course he had recognized them. His confusion at the inn must have stemmed from the fact that her and the Hound were in Tyrosh together.

Sansa stepped out, smoothing out her skirts. Just as she was about to walk over, the Hound and the knight moved fast, raising their respective weapons, the old man catching a blow of his opponent's sword with his staff. Without thinking, Sansa cried out.

"Sandor! Leave him be!"

The men stopped at the sound of her voice. The Hound glanced over at her as she hurried to them. The knight stood back cautiusly, his staff at the ready to defend himself. That was right, he had tossed his sword at Joffrey's feet after being dismissed from the Kingsguard.

"Don't you know how to listen, girl?" the Hound snarled at her, moving protectively in front of her but Sansa smiled, urging him to sheathe his weapon.

"Do you not recognize him?" she asked but didn't give him a chance to reply. "I do not think I have to fear harm at his hands. After all, Ser Barristan Selmy is known to be a true knight. Am I right, Ser?" she turned to the man in question who sighed and lowered his staff before smiling gently at her.

"You are, sweet lady. On my honour, you are safe with me."

"Selmy?" the Hound looked at him incredulously and then he laughed harshly. "Bugger it! It's really you. The beard sure fooled me."

Ser Barristan Selmy, the former Lord Commander of the Kingsguard looked at the man who had taken his place as one of the White Brothers and then at Sansa and shook his head wonderingly.

"The world is a confusing place indeed. Who would have thought I would meet you in Tyrosh, Clegane? And with young Lady Stark as a company. What brings you here?"

The Hound glanced at Sansa who gave him a tiny nod of approval and he finally sheathed his sword.

"It's a long story, Selmy and one you won't like at all."

"It is alright, I have time enough," the old man replied and Sansa stepped forward.

"Then you should join us for dinner. There are many things you should know and I would like some answers as well."

"Thank you for your kindness, my lady," he bowed. "I will gladly join you."

As Sansa turned to walk back to their inn, all thoughts of looking around Tyrosh gone from her head, the two men flanked her on each side. And only as they reached the inn did Sansa realize just how strange the arrangement was. On one side there was Sandor Clegane, the Hound, a man who despised knights thinking them false. And on the other was Ser Barristan Selmy, as true a knight as any storybook hero she had read about in her childhood. And yet, when she thought back on how they behaved in regards to her, she couldn't help but feel they were more alike than they would admit. Yes, it was going to be the most interesting evening.

* * *

**A/N:** The largest demand on the reader's suspension of disbelief is the timing of this chapter. Please, accept the fact that Ser Barristan is only in Tyrosh by this point in time and not somewhere around the Valyria on a ship bound for Quarth. There is a reason for it. Oh, and the Bleeding Tower story is made up by me.


	7. Chapter 7

**Content notices:** language, mentions of past physical abuse

* * *

The three of them took dinner in Sansa's room, the fare being much less exotic than Sansa had expected. Then again, the inn catered to Westerosi men arrived for trade or other purposes and after a near fortnight on the sea, Sansa preferred to eat things she was familiar with.

It would be bad manners to try and talk while eating and Sansa didn't want to inquire too much into Ser Barristan's reasons for being in Tyrosh. Truth be told, until she had recognized him in the side street where he had followed her and the Hound, she had not even contemplated the possibility of meeting him again. When King Robert had still been alive and Ser Barristan had served as the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, she had had only a very limited contact with him. He had been courteous enough if he had happened to pass her in the halls but after that last time she had seen him, the time when Cersei and Jofrey had dismissed him from the Kingsguard, she had not given much thoughts to his whereabouts, more concerned about her father's situation. And after her father's execution and with how Joffrey had utilized his control over the Kingsguard, she had had few thoughts to spare for their former Commander.

_Still,_she thought as she watched the old knight sitting opposite her, _I am sure that he would not have hit me were he still the Lord Commander and he would stop the others as well. _Her father had held Ser Barristan in the highest esteem, as a man of his honour and Sansa had learned in the past months how rare such men truly were.

Once the dishes were taken away and only the wine remained, Sansa dismissed all attendants, unconsciously falling back on her training. Even with only two other people as her company, she behaved like a lady of the house. Or lady of the room as was the case.

"Thank you for the dinner, my lady," Ser Barristan spoke up first and Sansa accepted the thanks with a simple nod. "Let me speak my condolences first before we talk any further. Your father was a good man and what the Boy King did to him was dishonourable."

Sansa hadn't expected that but she didn't let her surprise nor her sudden tears show.

"Thank you, you are very kind to say so, but my father was a-" Sansa stopped herself before completing her learned speech. For so long she had been saying things about her father and mother and brother being traitors that she had almost started to believe it herself. But that wasn't necessary any longer, was it? She was free of Joffrey, free of the court intrigues and she could speak the truth again without a fear of reprisal. "My father was a good and just man who died for his beliefs," she said in a strong voice. "Joffrey is not the rightful King and my brother and mother are not traitors for fighting against him."

Ser Barristan stared at her for a moment, surprised at her outburst but the Hound who had been silent all through the dinner laughed outloud.

"Feels good to speak the truth for once, doesn't it, little wolf?"

"Yes, it does," she agreed before adding, "Especially when I know I will not be punished for it."

"Punished?" Ser Barristan echoed, looking between Sansa and the Hound. "What do you mean by that, my lady?"

But it was the Hound who answered as he leaned forward, poured himself a cup and took a sip.

"Did you know that they gave me your spot, Selmy?"

"I heard about it," the old knight said frostily, making the other man grin.

"Aye, and it rubs you the wrong way, I bet. A dog like me, without the fancy ser before his name getting to wear that pretty white cloak. I didn't even take the bloody vows, not like the rest of those fuckers."

"Watch your mouth, Clegane, a lady is present!"

Sansa sighed. Why would she have thought this would end well? She didn't really mind Sandor Clegane's language. It was rough and crude at times, just like him, but his honesty more than made up for it, after all the lies she had both told and listened to.

"My lords, please," she appealed to them. "I do not want you to quarrel."

Both of the men who looked about ready to leap at each other's throats backed down. The Hound filled his cup again and Ser Barristan finally took a taste from his.

"My apologies, Lady Stark," he said before looking at the Hound again. "I cannot help but find it strange that you are in this man's company and so far away from King's Landing."

"Yes, I imagine it does appear strange," Sansa agreed. "But Sandor Clegane has been instrumental in my escape plan and has done everything in his power to protect me, not just during our journey here but before that as well. And in my opinion," she added, strangely galled by Ser Barristan's doubtful look, "He might not be a knight in name but he is one in truth."

That procclamation sent the man in question choking on his wine.

"What in the seven hells?!" he sputtered, looking far more disturbed than Sansa had ever seen him. It would have been almost funny if not for the fury slowly edging into his eyes. "I thought you have grown out of your stories, girl. Don't make me into something I'm not just so I'll fit into your stupid fairy tale."

"But I did not mean any offense," Sansa protested. She noticed Ser Barristan shifting in his seat, as if readying himself to come to her rescue but a physical harm at the Hound's hands was not something she was afraid of. She knew he wouldn't harm in such a way.

"Then think about your words next time, you stupid girl," he snarled at her before he stood up and stalked out of the room angrily. Sansa watched him depart with a feeling that was half-regret and half-resignation. He had been nothing but kind to her for so long she had forgotten just how angry he could get when provoked. She had meant to compliment him but all she had managed to do was anger him again. She knew why he despised knights but even he had to admit that not all of them were as rotten as his brother or as false as sers Boros or Meryn. She had meant to point out that the deeds, not the words made a knight but he didn't stay long enough to listen. And yet she could not find it in herself to blame him.

"I am sorry you had to witness that," she turned to Ser Barristan who shook his head.

"I have known Clegane for years. And I happen to know that he has refused knighthood several times when it has been offered to him. I never asked about his reasons but I know he feels quite strongly about the subject. Still," his tone became reproaching, "speaking to a lady in such a manner is unacceptable."

"I value him for several reasons," Sansa said, smiling gently. "His manners are not one of those."

Ser Barristan chuckled at the jest.

"True, my lady. But you spoke of an escape and his help in it?" he asked leadingly. Sansa looked down at her lap. It was still not easy for her to even remember, much less talk about her experiences in King's Landing, but she knew she would have to at least touch upon those in order to explain herself.

"You know of my father's death. With my sister's disappearance days prior to that, I was the only Stark remaining in King's Landing. That made me a valuable hostage and my betrothal to Joffrey was still effective as well. Joffrey, he.." Sansa thought about how to phrase her next words politely. She was still a lady, after all. "The power he got to wield made him very dangerous to anger and I had the misfortune of not having anyone to speak up for me."

"My lady, you cannot mean..." there was an outrage in Ser Barristan's voice which Sansa was glad to hear. It meant that Joffrey had been wrong about her deserving her punishments.

"It is not befitting of a king to strike his lady, you see," Sansa said. "But that was not a problem for him. He had five knights sworn to obey his every word. And I was but a traitor's daughter and a traitor's sister. They left my face alone most of the time. Joffrey liked me pretty," she smiled but it felt forced and unnatural. Ser Barristan was looking at her with something akin to horror on his face.

"They hit you? The knights of the Kingsguard hit a highborn maiden of twelve?"

Sansa nodded quietly.

"Even Oakheart?"

Sansa thought it was quite telling that Ser Barristan singled out only one man out of the five he had served along.

"Ser Arys protested against the command, at least. And he did not strike me very hard, either," she told the knight truthfully but it did nothing to diminish his rage, quite the opposite.

"They should not have touched you at all!" he got to his feet and started pacing agitatedly, talking to himself. "Knights of the Kingsguard are the knightly elite of the Seven Kingdoms! Letting the Kingslayer remain and accepting the Hound was bad enough but hitting helpless children? How could they have stooped so low?"

"Ser Barristan," Sansa tried to speak to him but was interrupted when the old knight got down on his knees in front of her, taking one of her hands into his.

"Lady Stark, I cannot say how sorry I am for how my former brothers treated you. If there is anything in my power I can do to make amends, name it and it shall be done."

"Ser Barristan," Sansa could hardly speak around the lump in her throat that had formed suddenly. This was how the ladies in the songs were treated, with the gallant knights swearing themselves into their service or to carry out a task for them. Ser Barristan was truly one of the greatest living knights still. "Rise, please, good ser."

He obeyed and Sansa gestured for him to retake his seat.

"I know that were you still the Lord Commander, my treatment would not have been such. You are not responsible for the choices those men made. Joffrey and the knights themselves will have to answer for them once they leave this world. The Father is just and he will give them appropriate sentences, I believe. But it was the way I was treated that led me to decide that I had to escape soon. I knew that Joffrey would never treat me with honour and that he might get even worse if we got married. When Lord Stannis began his march on the city, I started to think about my escape."

Sansa kept explaining, telling Ser Barristan just how she had come up with her escape plans, how and why she had secured the Hound's help, how they had left the Red Keep and she finished with telling him just why they had ended up in Tyrosh of all places.

"We shall start looking for a ship back to Westeros in a couple of days," she concluded. "I still have to decide just where exactly I want to go and I am not very eager to get on a ship again so soon," she smiled. "I am even half-tempted to stay in the Free Cities for a while, maybe until the war is over but that would be very selfish of me, I think. My family deserves to know about my fate."

Ser Barristan had listened very carefully to all she had said, a contemplative look on his face.

"An extraordinary story, my lady," he said at last. "Finding a ship bound for Westeros should not be very hard but avoiding the recapturing on your return would be harder. Most of the ships from Tyrosh sail either to King's Landing, Planky Town or Oldtown. Neither of those places seem a good choice for you."

"I expected difficulties from the very beginning," Sansa replied. "I am sure we will manage."

"So Clegane gave his allegiance to you," the knight said wonderingly. "Are you sure he can be trusted?"

"I staked my life on it and I have yet to be proven wrong," she replied coldly and Ser Barristan conceded her point with an apology before steering the conversation on the matter of her brother.

"He is calling himself the King in the North and he has the Riverlands behind him as well. The Ironborn might have stabbed him in the back but from all I heard, he is more than capable at warfare. Tell me, should he manage to defeat the Lannisters and the Ironborn and regain the North, do you think he will make a bid for the Iron Throne as well?"

There was some ulterior motive behind Ser Barristan's question that Sansa could not divine. Nevertheless, she answered him, secure in the knowledge of her brother's nature.

"No, he will not. Robb only took the crown because Joffrey killed our father, I am sure of it. He does not desire to rule the Seven Kingdoms."

"What would your brother do if someone else were to turn up and demand the Iron Throne which was theirs by right?"

"You mean like Lord Stannis? I am sure Robb would support the rightful king," Sansa was not quite sure about that. Robb and Lord Stannis had not made a pact, as far as she knew. But Robb had honour and if the new ruler proved to have a right to rule, he would make peace with them.

"No, not Stannis Baratheon. His right to the throne derives from Robert's claim and that claim was won in a rebellion which makes it less rightful, even more so now, with the news from the east," Ser Barristan replied and then took a deep breath as if making a hard decision. "Aerys Targaryen's daughter is still alive and she has managed to hatch three living dragons. From what I know, she does plan on returning to Westeros to claim her father's throne for herself. The only reason I am in Tyrosh is because the ship I travel on is taking on supplies. I mean to continue on to Quarth and to offer my services to the Mother of Dragons, as she is being called in the far east."

Sansa almost forgot to breathe. Living dragons and a Targaryen heir ready to claim her inheritance was almost too fantastic to believe. But she didn't think Ser Barristan would lie about such a thing. But what would it mean for the situation in Westeros? Three hundred years ago, Aegon Targaryen had conquered Seven Kingdoms with three dragons. Now his descendant had gained three dragons of her own. Was the history set up to repeat itself, with this Targaryen girl being the new conqueror? And if it was, what role would be played by Sansa herself?

"Why would you tell me all this?" she asked at last.

"Because when Robert gave orders for Daenerys Targaryen to be assassinated, your father was the only one to protest against such an action, calling it dishonourable. Starks are known for their honour. If they swear themselves to a cause, they will hold to it. Daenerys is barely fifteen years old and she has known nothing but life in an exile. She knows nothing of the ways of the Westerosi courts. If a lady of a high standing was to join her as a companion, to teach her something of the homeland she never knew and its customs, it would be of a tremendous help to all. I have given it a lot of thought, my lady," Ser Barristan spoke earnestly now. "I have known several Targaryen royals and some were as mad as Aerys, true, but there were noble ones as well, King Aegon and Queen Rhaella and Prince Rhaegar most of all. According to the information I had, Daenerys shares nothing but her name with her father and is in all aspects like her elder brother. I planned to join her and observe her for a while, to make sure the rumours were true and she was Rhaegar's sister, not Aerys' daughter. And then I met you and it was like a sign, my lady."

Sansa finally understood. Ser Barristan was asking her to join him in his journey to see the Targaryen Princess and not only that, he wanted her to pledge herself to her cause as well, to become Daenerys' companion and teacher, to share the knowledge of her upbringing with the exiled royal and to prepare her for the court life in the Seven Kingdoms.

"My father played a large role in overthrowing her father's reign," Sansa pointed out quietly. "She has most likely little love left for Starks."

"But certainly more than for Lannisters or Baratheons. What your father did, he did for love he held for his own family and his friend. If Daenerys is indeed like Rhaegar, she will understand. And, may I be frank, my lady?" at Sansa's nod, Ser Barristan continued. "Even with three dragons at her side, the retaking of the Seven Kingdoms will be hard for her and a lot of blood will be spilled. But if one of the Great Houses was to declare for her, it would simplify things enormously. You said it yourself, your brother would support the rightful ruler. Daenerys has the right to the throne and with the dragons she has the might as well. And the North coming to her side could convince others more easily. You could be the herald of that alliance, my lady."

"The wolf and the dragon joining together," Sansa said slowly. Ser Barristan was right, she could see it. Dragons were the decisive force in this. Who would want to risk another Field of Fire? Joffrey, she answered herself. He would be foolish enough to risk it to keep his power, his mother supporting him in his delusions. But Sansa remembered her lessons. Torrhen Stark, the last King in the North before Robb was crowned, had bent his knee to Aegon after seeing what the dragons had been capable of.

Robb had gone to war with the Lannisters to first free and then to avenge their father. He had let himself be crowned not out of desire for the crown but because it would have been easier to consolidate his forces under the royal banner. Sansa knew her brother enough to be sure of that. Her father had risen against Targaryens because his sister had been kidnapped by Prince Rhaegar and because King Aerys had killed his father and older brother. Daenerys had nothing to do with those crimes. And wasn't one King or Queen better than four? Seven Kingdoms had always been better off when united under one ruler. To help bring that peace about, wasn't that a noble task, worthy of a song?

Sansa was startled out of her thoughts when Ser Barristan stood up from his seat.

"I can see I have given you a lot to think about, my lady," he spoke up. "I do not ask that you make a decision immediately. Take your time to think it through. My ship will remain in Tyrosh for three days yet. When you come to a decision, let me know so I can arrange things as necessary."

"Tell me one thing, Ser Barristan," Sansa stood up as well. "If I decided to pursue my original plans and return to Westeros immediately, what would you do?"

"I would ask that you let your brother know about Daenerys. She will come back to claim her birthright regardless of anything. That is not something that can be changed," he bowed to her. "Good night, Lady Stark."

"Good night, Ser Barristan," Sansa returned his greeting almost too late as she sat down heavily. She eyed the half-filled wine goblets on the table and finally poured herself a cup, sipping at it slowly. Her head was swimming with thoughts and possibilities. When she had first started planning her escape from King's Landing and even later on as she had gotten further and further away from the place, she had only imagined that she would make her way back to her family and stay with them. Maybe Robb would arrange a match for her for when she was older and she would spend time with her mother and once Robb took the North back, she would stay in Winterfell until the time for her marriage came to pass. It had been her dearest wish but all of a sudden it seemed rather dull.

Sansa wanted a song. She had realized during her captivity in King's Landing that no songs were being sung about frightened little girls but now she also realized that singers rarely made songs about young ladies who did their duty, either. Escaping her imprisonment was guile and clever from her but there it also ended. She would come back to her family, resume her role as a dutiful daughter and become forgotten. Was it vain of her to wish for more?

Dragons. Daenerys Targaryens had three dragons and she meant to conquer the Seven Kingdoms like her ancestor had once done. iFire and Blood./i The Targaryen words never seemed so ominous. Sansa didn't notice she had drained her cup already but she decided against drinking more. The wolf and the dragon joining together. Those words wouldn't leave her mind. Why did she speak them like that? The alliance made a lot of sense, no doubt about it but there was something about that wording that tugged at her instincts, made her think there was more to it.

The wolf and the dragon. The Starks and the Targaryens. Queen Daenerys and Princess Sansa, companions and friends as Ser Barristan clearly wished? Or Prince Rhaegar and Lady Lyanna, a captor and his captive? Or something else? Lord Eddard spoke rarely about his younger sister and her fate. Sansa knew her aunt had been kidnapped by Prince Rhaegar and died before she could be rescued. King Robert had been convinced that Rhaegar had raped her and he had killed the Targaryen for it. And yet, the few times Sansa's father had spoken about those events, he had seemed more sad than angry.

Where was the truth? And did anyone even know it anymore? They were all dead now, Rhaegar and Lyanna and Robert and Eddard. Sansa sighed and looked at the half-empty table. She wanted to go with Ser Barristan, to see the dragons and the Targaryen Queen. It would delay her return to her family, certainly, but if she managed to form the alliance, it would be worth it in the end. But she wasn't alone on this journey.

Sandor Clegane should have a say in it, too. He had given up everything to help her and she wouldn't make a decision like this without consulting him first. And she had to apologize for her comments earlier, too. She had not meant to anger him. But he had not stayed to listen, had he? Well, she would make him listen, she decided as she rang for a maid and had her clean the table before sending her to find her scarred protector.

She could hear him going up the stairs before long, his heavy steps echoing in the corridor beyond. And when he opened the door and stumbled in, Sansa had to stop herself from pursing her lips in disappointment. He was clearly drunk. She should have been used to it by now but she wasn't. She couldn't quite understand the heavy feeling in her heart before it dawned on her that she had assumed he had only drunk so much because he had had to deal with the Lannisters daily and somehow she had convinced herself that him coming into her service would have meant he would end with his bad habits. It was clearly not the case and Sansa couldn't help but feel disappointed.

"You called, my lady?" he asked sarcastically and Sansa held on to her courtesy by the barest thread.

"Yes, thank you for coming so promptly. Have a seat, please," she told him sweetly, outwardly unperturbed by his rudeness. He took the seat that Ser Barristan had vacated almost an hour earlier and he just stared at her. Sansa returned his look as best she could. He had a mean bark, she had known that for the longest time but he had yet to bite her and she was determined not to let him provoke her.

"Well?" the Hound rasped when the silence stretched for too long. "What did the lady want from me?"

"I wanted to apologize for offending you earlier," Sansa began, eager to bury their disagreement. "I only meant to point out that your conduct in regards to me was more knightly than that of other men who were actually knighted. And I did not want Ser Barristan to look down on you, not after everything you have done for me."

He was still looking at her suspiciously but the burned side of his mouth twitched, although Sansa was unsure if it was in a smile or a frown.

"A fair lady defending her champion?" he rumbled and Sansa almost pouted.

"You are mocking me again," she accused and he finally laughed aloud.

"Aye, little wolf, I'm mocking you."

"You are a horrible man," Sansa told him, meaning it as a jest but he got serious again.

"I am and you'd do well not to forget it, little wolf."

"I did not mean..." Sansa stuttered out, belatedly realizing how her words might have been taken but he shook his head.

"Then you should. I've been kind to you, aye, but that doesn't make me a good man," he spoke as his eyes that had always been so angry were staring into her own, making her feel as if she was trapped in them. "I'm not a knight and never will be because I couldn't stomach the hypocrisy. You know some of my reasons."

"Your brother," she whispered and he nodded.

"And my sworn brothers of the Kingsguard and the hundreds of knights I've known in my life. This world is full of shitty people. The strong devour the weak and all the oaths are worthless. Knights are for killing, their titles merely ribbons that pretty up the blades. But it doesn't make the swords any less deadly, does it?" Sansa shook her head mutely. He sneered but she knew it wasn't at her but rather at his own thoughts. "You still believe in songs. They didn't beat it out of you and I don't know if that's a good thing or not. Do you trust me, girl?" he asked suddenly.

"With my life," she replied honestly and he grimaced again.

"Then you're a fool," he told her bluntly before falling silent again. Sansa shifted in her seat. She wanted to say something to him, something to make him see her faith in him was justified but she didn't know how to start and so she turned to the other reason she had called him in.

"Ser Barristan wants me to join him on his journey," she blurted out.

"Does he now? And where would he have you go?"

"Quarth," Sansa pronounced carefully. "He is going to serve the Targaryen Queen and he wants me to become her companion."

The Hound snorted.

"The old man's gone senile. The Targaryens lost their titles years ago. Why serve an exile with nothing but her name?"

"Because she has dragons," Sansa told him and watched as he considered her news.

"He's certain of it?" he asked and Sansa nodded. "Bugger me, the rumours are true then."

"Rumours?"

"The whole city's full of them," he explained. "They say the dragons are back, somewhere in the east. I thought it was just bored sailors making things up but it's not, is it?"

Sansa shook her head in negative.

"Ser Barristan was sure of the truth of it. He seems to think Daenerys will be able to take the Iron Throne for herself with them."

"And he's going to be at her side when she does it," Sandor Clegane snorted. "Ready with advice and encouragement. What role are you to play again, little wolf?"

"I am to teach her the ways and manners of the Westerosi courts. If I agree to it," she added.

"You haven't decided yet?" he sounded surprised by that.

"I wanted to ask you. It would mean changing all of our plans, after all."

He looked at her strangely.

"Our plans?"

"You are going to stay with me, are you not?" Sansa asked as it occured to her for the first time that he might not be that willing to follow her to the other side of the world. "If we went, we would get to see the dragons."

"And why would I want to see some bloody dragons, tell me that?" he asked harshly and Sansa gasped as she realized that for him, dragons were not a wonder come again into the world but rather fire-breathing creatures that would be a constant reminder of his only fear.

"I am sorry, I did not think about that," she tried to tell him as he looked away from her.

"Should have never told you," he muttered. Sansa looked down. She remembered that night when he had told her the story about his scars and while he had still seemed scary after, her fear of him had never been the same. He had shared something of himself that night and he would never be able to take it back, though at the moment he most likely wished to do just that.

"I am not yet certain of going with Ser Barristan," Sansa said. "It would delay my return to my family even more. But I could make a powerful alliance if I went and that is not a notion I can discard easily."

"You don't have right to make alliances on the behalf of your house," he pointed out. Sansa smiled.

"Not officially. But if I befriended the Queen and implored my brother to join up with her, he would listen to me. In the worst case, I would be a hostage again and I am sure she would treat me better than the Lannisters ever did."

"You want to go, don't you?" he asked and Sansa realized that yes, she did want it. Coming back to Westeros in the company of a Targaryen Queen and her dragons seemed exciting. And when she remembered Ser Barristan's words, of how young the Queen was and how lacking in proper education, her heart went out to the girl. They could become the best of friends if they tried and Sansa had not had a female friend since Jeyne had been sent away.

"Yes, I would like that," she admitted. The Hound sighed.

"Selmy's going to be with you all the time, right?" he asked. Sansa nodded and he studied her face for a while. "You trust him, too?"

"Yes, I think I do."

"Listen, little wolf. I don't want anything to do with the bloody dragons, real or human, fuck, my brother killed the girl's relatives, she won't be happy to see me anyway. You'd do better making that alliance without me at your back. And Selmy would keep you safe if you asked him so you don't need my protection, either. If you want to go to this Quarth, then go."

"But you will not come with me?" Sansa asked, feeling sad at the thought.

"No, I won't."

"What will you do?"

He grinned at that.

"You don't worry about that. This is Tyrosh. The Disputed Lands are over a short strip of sea, Myr and Lys are squaring off again and the city's full of sellsword companies. Any of them would take me on, hell, they might give me a command right off the beginning. I might even join the Golden Company, I heard the buggers are the best and actually keep their word."

Sansa listened to his words. He would be content living a sellsword's life, she thought. It wouldn't be that different from what he did while serving Lannisters. He would fight someone else's battles, selling his skill with the sword for money instead of status. And she would see a dragon and keep company to a Queen. It was the best solution for both of them. And yet...

"I will miss you," she said quietly but truthfully. He had been her only trusted person for so long she found it hard to imagine losing him. But it was about to happen and there was nothing she could do about that.

"Bugger it, little wolf, I think I'll miss you too, chirping and all," he said gruffly and Sansa smiled at him. "I'll stay until you get on that fucking ship with Selmy, alright?"

"Thank you," she told him in a trembling voice. "I will not keep you any longer."

He must have recognized her attempt at closing the conversation because he stood up without another word and left the room. Sansa latched it closed after him and only after that did she allow herself to cry. She was losing another friend soon and couldn't be blamed for her tears, could she? After all, once they parted, they would not likely see each other again. And that gave her a right to grieve for his loss.

_TBC_

**A/N:** Didn't expect that one, did you?


End file.
